


Scalebacks

by Cloudgazer (Cloudgazer_DBH)



Series: Trials of the Dragonborn [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Dragonborn (D&D), Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Forgotten Realms - Freeform, Lizardfolk, M/M, Original Character(s), Waterdeep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 110,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21611272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudgazer_DBH/pseuds/Cloudgazer
Summary: A newly forged cleric leaves the safety of his cloister in Candlekeep in order to learn something of the world. In the City of Splendors, he meets new friends, dangerous enemies, valuable allies, and comes to learn the purpose of his new powers.
Relationships: Original D&D Character(s)/Original D&D Character(s)
Series: Trials of the Dragonborn [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557541
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to all of the orphan D&D characters who only ever got to play in one-shots, games that died too soon, and low-plot games where they never got to shine. Those characters live on forever. Let them out of the box to sparkle every once in a while!

Balthezar counted his money, and then counted it again. A frown formed at the edges of his draconic snout. He wished he had asked more questions, but then again, that was ridiculous. He had read every single book about Waterdeep they had in the library at Candlekeep. Most of it was dry history, interesting, but not particularly useful when it came to day to day life in a city the size of the City of Splendors. Was ten gold a lot of money? Was it nothing at all? He didn’t know. He counted the ten little coins stacked in his hand, each one stamped with the face of a dragon. They didn’t keep things like catalogs or menus in the archives. The vast secrets of the weave and the endless potential of the outer planes were laid bare before him only weeks before, and here he was wondering about the price of a loaf of bread.

Sighing deeply, he palmed the gold, before slipping it back into the pouch under his robes. Blue, the same robes he had grown up in. The robes of an acolyte learning in Candlekeep. A candidate for wizardry, although no matter how hard he studied, he could never unlock the secrets of weave in any practical way without a little help. It had all happened so fast. One day, he was shelving and copying books, and keeping himself busy as an essayist under Master Tethtoril, and the next day he was being sent away. He had spent his whole life in that library, and now here he was out in the world.

He wasn’t angry. He didn’t have it in him to be angry at them. He loved them all too much in Candlekeep. That place represented safety and knowledge to him. He was made for books and libraries, but to be suddenly ripped away from all that hurt him deeply. Even so, he couldn’t help but keep his hopes up. He had ink and paper. He would write, as he had always done. That would calm him, and perhaps he could make fair coin with his new talents.

A sharp bump in the road caused Balthezar to grunt. He raised a green-scaled hand to his face and adjusted the small pair of glasses perched upon the bridge of his snout. His instructors had said that Cloudgazer had two weaknesses, his eyes, and his shyness. The glasses would help with his eyes, but nothing could remedy his quiet, studious nature. He worried all over again. Waterdeep was the biggest city along the Sword Coast. What was he supposed to do there if he was too terrified to talk to anyone?

Balthezar shook his head, furrowing his brow. The small, brown horns jutting from his brow seemed to angle themselves down, as if they were eyebrows. He was dragonborn, with a bright green sheen to his scales. He was not imposing – the other students often teased him for being tall, skinny, and for the small size of his horns. Even the shape of his face, all round corners and soft scales, made him seem too friendly to be able to claim draconic blood. Even so, he had been raised to understand his people as well as the scribes at Candlekeep could explain. He knew he would be an uncommon sight in Waterdeep, but he had been uncommon his whole life. This would be no different, surely.

“Oi! Dragonborn!” said the human driving the carriage, “You awake?”

“Oh! Uh, yes!” stammered Balthezar, “I apologize. Did you need something?”

“About half a bell’s ride out from the city,” came the answer, “You ready to go?”

“Yes! Of course!”

Balthezar scrambled to make sure he wasn’t lying to the man. It was less a carriage and more a produce wagon riding up from Daggerford. Balthezar had been packed in with the turnips and potato sacks, and he gathered up the rest of his things. He had a shield with him, as well as a mace – the only weapon the Scribes had on hand to spare. He dreaded using it, although he knew he was stronger than he looked. Surely that wasn’t remarkable for his species. He had never met another one of his kind, of course, but he was so ordinary, other dragonborn surely must have been more notable.

For an instant, Balthezar began to panic. His backpack was full of travel essentials. Dried fruit rations, rope, candles, incense, and other things that he thought might be useful. However, he couldn’t find the most important thing. A small, flat icon carved of wood and painted yellow in the shape and color of a lit candle, with a delicate image of an eye carved onto the base and then rubbed with ink into the impression, like scrimshaw. It was the symbol of Deneir, the scribe of Oghma. After a moment of hurried searching, he finally found it buried at the bottom of his pack. The dragonborn breathed out in relief, resting on his knees as he hugged the symbol to his breast. This represented everything. The reason he had been sent away, as well as the promise of his future long term. The powers he had been granted were still in their nascent stages. He felt how fragile the song within his soul was, sparked there by the god of knowledge. If he wasn’t careful, he knew he might never hear it again, and everything would well and truly be lost.

Every so often, he could hear the faint strains of it – the harmonics of the universe buzzing all around him, slow and sad, and utterly incomprehensible. It came upon him unexpectedly during quiet moments, often in moments of meditation, or whenever he was reading a particularly exciting book. He didn’t hear it with his ears – he had tried covering them as an experiment, and it was just as loud. For a week, he had heard it off and on, thinking that he was going mad. It was an utter mystery what the song was until he found one night that he had hitherto undiscovered gifts.

“We’re here,” the driver said, “Out you go.”

“Oh!” Balthezar said, realizing he had been sitting motionless for several minutes, listening to the song as he hugged the holy symbol to his chest. All at once it faded, but the noise all around him continued. He realized there were seemingly hundreds of voices crowding around outside, and, knowing he had to hurry to gather his things, he hung the symbol around his neck by a simple twine string. “Of course. Thank you, good sir.”

“Just get out. I gotta unload and you’re in the way.”

Balthazar froze up for only another instant, caught between his good manners and the driver’s request, before he finally slung his pack over his shoulder and scrambled out the back of the wagon, climbing over bags of tubers as he did. As he pulled aside the canvas cover, he was momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight. It was around high noon, and he hadn’t realized it had grown so late. The covered wagon had obscured all daylight. A moment later, his eyes grew adjusted to the light, and he saw Waterdeep for the first time.

The whole place was absolutely packed with people. Human men and women walked slowly through the market square, buying their daily needs. Dwarves haggled loudly with halfling merchants standing up on their store counters. Elegant, swarthy women from the east hawked silk scarves and woven carpets, while men of the north with skin so pale it appeared ghostly stood sentinel in front of tanned hides stretched across their market stall. Balthezar was frozen in place, hugging his backpack to his chest, one arm awkwardly twined through the strap. He was startled by the sheer amount of bodies packed into this market square. There were more people here than he had ever even met before, tall, short, stout, lithe, and everything in between. The crowd was a brown-peach smear across his vision as his breathing began to quicken in panic. He had taken all of one step into Waterdeep, and already he was overcome by panic. This was a mistake. He had to ask if the man could give him a ride back to Candlekeep right that minute, but when he turned to ask, he could not find the man anywhere.

In the next moment, Balthezar had to close his eyes and center himself. He wasn’t used to prayer. It felt as if he didn’t deserve to be chosen by Deneir in this way, considering he had done little more than invoke his name at the end of letters and essays before this, but even so, he prayed, reaching up to clutch the holy symbol around his neck. He was here. It was a new situation. He had to persevere. If he returned to Candlekeep now, it would be in failure.

Opening his eyes, Balthezar took a step forward before his roiling mind could tell him to stop. Since he had taken one step, he found it easier to take another, and then another, and soon, he was pushing through the crowd, attempting to find somewhere to eat and then to rest his head for the night. As he did, he apologized incessantly every time he so much as brushed elbows with anyone at all.

\--

Hungry. Cold. Lonely. These were the thoughts going through the mind of the lizardfolk as he wandered slowly through the alleys just outside the market square. He hovered around the edges of the square, afraid to enter the brightly lit market. Whenever he did, the squishy people would either scream at him and call the police or chase him away whenever he asked for food. He knew the language. He knew the words. He just didn’t know why they weren’t working.

His gurgling stomach spurred him on, forcing him to step out into the light. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he was long-limbed, and muscular, and covered head to toe with rigid, horny scales that began a deep forest green on his back and resolved to a dull orange at his belly. His eyes darted this way and that, each one pointing a different way, and he was careful not to smile. He had tried smiling. The teeth frightened the humans too much. His only clothing was an old fur loincloth around his waist, and cloth wraps around his feet which had worn away almost to nothing. He smelled like the old bear he had skinned to make this loincloth, and he noticed as he made his way through the crowd that everyone seemed to give him a wide berth.

Eventually, the lizard followed his long nose, whipping his tail back and forth as he did like a crocodile on the hunt. He found his prey. An apple cart, full of the fullest, most luscious red fruits he had ever seen. Both eyes froze, locked onto one pale red apple in particular, and his pace quickened, intending to claim it.

“Oh, you again, eh, Caliban?” a woman’s voice suddenly cried out.

Distracted from his hunt, the lizard’s eyes began to circle around, looking for the source of the voice, before he found it, looking down, he saw the halfling woman with plump features frowning up at him. She was holding a kitchen knife in her hand – a common blade, hardly sharp enough to cut through his horned lizardflesh, but the sight of it still put him on edge. When she stood, waiting for him to answer, he hesitated.

“Good day,” said the lizardfolk.

“Don’t you ‘good day’ me!” she cried, “Every single day, you come around staring at my wares, you never buy nothing, and half the time I gotta send the watch on you for drooling all over the fruit. Nobody’ll buy nothing when you’re around. Move along!”

“May I have an apple?” said the lizardfolk, hardly listening to the woman’s screed. The common tongue wasn’t his first, and he hardly understood it. Still, he knew enough to be polite, “Please?”

“You got any money?”

There was that word again. Money. It seemed so silly. He had tried to barter for wares and food, but nobody accepted anything he had to offer. They all tried to hand him these little pieces of copper and silver, and he guessed they must have been worth something, because he had seen everyone around exchanging them for food and clothes in the market square every day. He didn’t know how people got money, or which coins meant what, and he had spent what little he had gotten selling all of his belongings on food the first week he had lived there.

“No,” he said.

“Then move along!” she cried, the lines of her face growing hard, “Before I show you how much I appreciate freeloaders.”

“But I am hungry.”

“I don’t give a flip whether you’re the Open Lord himself! No money, no apples. Get it?”

“No,” he said, telling the truth. Meals were so simple to come by in the swamp. You hunted, and if you had extra, you traded part of your hunt for a part of your neighbor’s share. Hides for clothes, bones for weapons, teeth for arrowheads, and of course, most valuable of all, meat.

“Get!” she said, waving the knife. Shoppers had begun to stop and stare at the display, watching this tiny halfling woman coming barely up to this monster’s knees, waving a knife at him.

The lizardfolk couldn’t help but snarl. He drew back, one eye focusing on the woman’s knife while the other kept an eye clapped on that apple. Desperation was making his mouth twitch. He couldn’t hurt this woman. He liked halflings. They were so squishy and cute. However, he had been taught that anyone who waves a weapon in your face is meat that deserves to be eaten. He froze for a moment, unsure of what to do. He lived in a city now. It wasn’t okay to bite people – he had tried, and it did not end well. Even so, if he did not eat, he would die.

Finally, his body made the decision for him. All of a sudden, he snatched out with a claw, grabbing the apple from the stack and immediately stuffing it whole into his maw. He then filled both hands with apples, causing the stall to jostle, and a cascade of fruit rolled off and onto the road. The woman, screaming, lashed out with her knife, finding purchase in the lizard’s scaly skin. He flinched back, but the knife had not cut deep enough to cause any damage. Knowing he was in danger, the lizardfolk turned and ran, his tail snapping to-and-fro, forcing the woman to duck.

“Stop! Thief!”

The lizardfolk didn’t stop. He gripped the two apples he had claimed in each clawed hand, running blindly through the crowd for his life.

\--

“Excuse me,” Balthezar said, “Could you…?”

“Piss off, scaleback!” the dwarf leatherworker said as he ducked under Balthezar’s outstretched arm and went on his way.

“B-but I…!” began the dragonborn, but it was too late. The dwarf had already moved on, leaving Balthezar to stare impotently after him. He had no idea where he was, or what he was doing, and having faith that things would turn out alright did not seem prudent. His was a god of Knowledge. Surely, Deneir appreciated rational thinking over blind faith. He realized in that moment that he had never really been raised as an adherent of Deneir. He didn’t know what his new god really wanted. He was playing it by ear. It was the opposite of rational. With a sigh, he turned down the street he was wandering, and resumed his search. Every stall he had seen was selling clothing or housewares. None of them had any food for sale. He felt stupid and knew he should turn back and return to the market, but he had lost his way down one street, and did not know how to get back.

“Oh…” he muttered to himself, frowning and looking around, “Balderdash!”

He picked a direction and began to walk, sure that he would find something eventually. However, he had not gone five steps down the lane when he heard something coming from behind. Voices yelling, followed by an unsettling noise, like the hiss of some kind of creature. He turned around at once, ready to face whatever was coming down the street.

At that moment, he saw it approaching. Green and orange scales, thick muscles, and a mouth full of teeth chewing something up. Balthezar froze for an instant, his hand moving to grab hold of the mace hanging from his belt. However, the creature was faster than Balthezar expected, and rammed into the dragonborn, both of his eyes having swiveled behind him to follow his pursuers.

The sheer strength of the body check the lizardfolk gave Balthezar nearly knocked him over, and he grabbed hold of the creature with his hands to steady himself. The lizard, with Balthezar holding on, tried to run, but found the dragonborn’s surprisingly strong grip around his arm. The lizardfolk turned his face to hiss with a mouth full of apple, but surprise came over the creature’s face when he saw green scales. A calm came over the Lizardfolk all of a sudden, and he spoke. It took Balthezar a moment to realize he was speaking in draconic.

“Friend?” asked the lizardfolk.

A moment of parsing the only vaguely familiar language later, and Balthezar answered back, in stilted, guttural phrasing, “I… I suppose so?”

“There he is!” cried a woman’s voice, and both scaled creatures turned towards it. There, the halfling apple seller was approaching, with two members of the city watch in tow.

Balthezar suddenly realized what was going on and turned from the lizardfolk to the halfling and the two burly men at her sides. Turning back to the lizard, he saw the apples in the creature’s claws.

“What is this?” he asked in draconic.

All the lizardfolk could manage was a weak, “Hungry…” before the city watch approached.

“Thank you for your assistance, citizen,” the man on the left said in a bored tone, “We’ll take the creature off of your hands.”

“Er,” Balthezar began, tightening his grip on the lizardfolk’s arm. He could feel through the power in the creature’s arm that he could easily pull away but seeing someone else like him – even superficially like him – had caused him to trust Balthezar. A pang of guilt shot through Balthezar, and he turned back to the police, asking, “What’s this all about, officer?”

“Thievery,” said the watchman on the right, “The scaleback stole apples from the market.”

“My apples!” the woman screamed, “As if I don’t show that creature enough kindness letting him gawk at my fruit without paying.”

“I… uh…” Balthezar said.

“Bring him here, sir Dragonborn,” the leftmost officer said, “He’ll face justice.”

A tension in the lizardfolk’s arm made Balthezar aware that the lizardfolk seemed ready to bolt once again. The dragonborn thought quickly, knowing that a creature like this would likely not be a friend of the law here.

“How… how many apples did he steal?”

“At least three…” began the officer, but the woman interrupted.

“Five more fell off onto the street and bruised!” she screamed, “He’ll ruin me if I’m not tough.”

“Well, then, what if I paid for the apples?” said Balthezar, reaching down to his coin purse, “Then it would be alright.”

“Sir Dragonborn, we have this well in hand. Thievery is an offense punishable by…”

“But if I buy the apples for him, it’s not thievery. Simple logic!” said Balthezar, letting go of the lizardfolk with a smile. He began to dig about in his coin purse. “Let’s see, an apple can’t be that expensive, can it? Maybe…”

“Sir, truly. We’ll just clap him in the stocks for the day, give him a whipping and… and…”

At this point the two officers and the halflings eyes went wide as the dragonborn dug a gold piece out of his bag, stared at it with some trepidation, before offering it down to the woman. She stared at the gold glittering in the sunlight, unable to believe how much money this dragonborn was willing to part with for a perfect stranger.

“Is this enough?” said Balthezar, “I’m afraid I don’t have very much.”

“I…” she said and considered asking for more. However, with a sidelong glance to the officers flanking her, she figured a gold would do, “I think that… that would be more than satisfactory.”

“That’s enough for a whole bushel of…!” began the officer on the right, but an elbow in his ribs stopped him.

“Let it lie, Brent,” he said, “Ma’am? You dropping the charges?”

“I…” she stammered, before she eagerly snatched the gold piece from the dragonborn and stuffed it down the front of her dress, “Yes. I think this is fine. Just don’t do it again, Caliban, you understand?”

The lizard stared at the halfling, and Balthezar thought it seemed as if the poor creature was heartbroken. However, he eventually said, “Yes,” and nothing else.

“Welp, we’re done here,” the officer on the left said, “Come on Brent.”

“But she’s cheating…!”

“Leave it!”

With that, the two officers turned, one leading the other off by the arm, and behind them the halfling woman continued to feel the gold she had stashed down the front of her dress, before she, too, wandered away.

Finally left alone, Balthezar smiled for a moment, but then realized he only had nine gold left. With one more sigh, he tied the bag closed and hung it back on his belt, before turning to speak with the lizardfolk. However, he didn’t realize that the lizard had crept up close to the dragonborn, and when he turned, the two of them were immediately nose-to-nose. Balthezar’s warm scales went immediately flush as his vision was dominated by the sight of the lizardfolk taking in his scent.

“Ah! Uh… Hello,” said Balthezar in the common tongue, but he soon remembered and continued in stilted, textbook draconic, “I mean, I’m, uh, glad you’re alright.”

“I am… glad as well,” said the lizardfolk, “You paid money to the softskins for me. Who are you?”

“W-well, uh. I’m, uh…. Cloudgazer,” said Balthezar, before he realized what he had said. He had left that name behind in the library. He was just Balthezar now, “I mean… friends back home called me Cloudgazer. Balthezar is my name.”

“Balthy… Baltha…” the reptile muttered, shaping his mouth around the words, “… Cloudgazer is simpler. I will call you Cloudgazer.”

“Uh, but…”

“I lost my name in the swamp. I have none.”

Balthezar blinked, and asked, “No name?”

“None,” answered the lizardfolk, before he began to circle around the dragonborn, sniffing him from tip to toe and making him very uncomfortable, “The softskins call me Caliban. No tail.”

“Huh?”

“No tail,” he repeated, “And you don’t hear good. Did you lose it? Are you hurt?”

“Oh! No! I… I don’t have a tail.”

“Don’t worry, it will grow back,” the reptile said, nodding his head. From there, he placed one of the apples into his mouth and began to eat it, core and all, before he raised a claw to Balthezar’s shoulder and looked him over. One eye started low and climbed, while the other began by making eye contact and fell lower slowly. Balthezar was startled by the independent movement of the creature’s eyes, but also found himself fascinated by it as well. He decided not to correct the creature.

“Well. I hope you will be well,” Balthezar said, “I must be going.”

“No!”

“Wh-what?”

“You can’t go. You have saved me. I owe you a part of my kill when next I hunt.”

Balthezar was barely keeping up with the creature’s broken, archaic draconic, and so he merely stared and blinked his eyes, unsure of what to make of that. When Caliban grabbed the dragonborn’s hand in a crushing grip and began to pull, he found he could not resist the overwhelming strength of this creature and he was dragged down the street. To where, he didn’t know.

\--

“E-excuse me, Mr… uh… Caliban,” Balthezar insisted, “Where are you taking me?”

“Not mister,” Caliban answered, “Just Caliban. I told you. I will share my hunt with you.”

At this, the two of them emerged into a brightly lit street, just blocks away from the market square. It was a well-to-do neighborhood, and Balthezar was happy to see there were Inns and dining halls all along the avenue. This Caliban person had led him exactly where he needed to go, and just in time, too.

“Where do you want to go?” asked Caliban, suddenly, as he pushed the last apple into Balthezar’s hands. Balthezar stared at the fruit, and then up at Caliban.

“What?”

“You can have it. We hunted the apples together, but there is always more to hunt,” said Caliban, “The alleys behind here are best for finding food when I need it.”

“The…” Balthezar asked, before he looked down at the apple, “Caliban, have you been eating out of the garbage?”

“Garbage? No. Softskins throw out food. I find it. It is scavenge. a coward’s hunt, but it is the only hunt I can partake in here. It is all I have to offer.”

Balthezar stared at Caliban, before he turned and looked around. This creature was living on the street, eating out of the trash, and had turned to thievery to survive. Surely, he couldn’t leave it like this. He looked down at the apple, wondering if it would be right to eat it when this creature had been going hungry. All of a sudden, a resolve came over Balthezar’s face, a hardness that he rarely showed with his soft features. It was his turn to take the lizardfolk by the hand and begin pulling. He wasn’t nearly as strong as the reptile, but Caliban followed all the same, happy to let his new friend lead the hunt. However, when the dragonborn led him to the front door of a small inn, Caliban stopped in his tracks and Balthezar found himself wrenched backwards.

“We can’t go in there,” Caliban said, simply.

“Why not?”

“They don’t like me.”

“O-oh… Well, we’ll go somewhere else then.”

“None of them like me.”

Balthezar stared at the reptile, and couldn’t help but break down into laughter, holding the apple over his mouth to cover the smile. He renewed his grip on Caliban’s hand and gave it a gentle tug.

“It will be fine. Come on.”

Caliban found that he trusted this strange tail-less creature, and he slowly began to move, walking forward to follow his friend into the inn.

\--

The inside was ordinary, mostly decorated with hunting trophies and plain hardwood. It was busy at that time of day, and there were few tables the two could sit alone, but eventually, Balthezar spotted a place in the corner and led the lizardfolk there. It was a booth seat in a shadowy spot, and while the table was bare, it wasn’t exactly clean. Even so, Balthezar had never eaten at an inn before, and Caliban had no concept of cleanliness, so neither of them complained. The dragonborn sat first, gesturing for Caliban to take the seat across from him, which he did, slowly, wrangling his long tail into a comfortable position curled up under the table.

It was here that Balthezar felt comfortable enough to take in his new friend fully. He was extremely muscular, broad in the chest and thick in the arms, and even his neck was ballooned wide with muscles. This creature could have killed him in a second if he wanted to. It made Balthezar a little bit happy to realize that the two of them sitting down for a meal probably meant he didn’t want to.

The smell was a little tougher to overlook as the two of them sat in the small booth together. The bearskin was rough and poorly tanned, smelling of leather rot and of a bear’s natural musk, and the lizardfolk himself smelled of ocean scum and road dust. Even so, Balthezar found the company too fascinating to comment. He was sure he didn’t smell much better than that after a few days travel without any sort of bath.

“So,” began Balthezar, sensing that Caliban was a lizard of few words, “What brought you to Waterdeep?”

Caliban paused, taking in the question and considering it for a moment. He finally answered, “My legs.”

“Oh, uh… I mean why did you come here?”

“I ran away and came here.”

“You ran?”

“Clan didn’t want me anymore,” Caliban explained.

“Oh! I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? You did nothing.”

“I can still feel sorry for you,” said Balthezar, “I, uh, I suppose I’m in Waterdeep for a similar reason. I was sent away. I’m new in town, just today.”

“I have lived here for many days and nights.”

“I see,” the green-scaled dragonborn muttered, before he placed the apple on the table and raised an arm to flag down some service, “Lets get some food in you before we go any further.”

“How?”

“I have more money,” said Balthezar, “Not much more, I think, but enough for a room and some meat.”

“Meat…” Caliban said, almost reverentially, as both eyes widened.

“Quit waving your arms like a ninny, I’m coming,” an older-sounding woman cried out, before she appeared a moment later. She was a dwarf with deep brown skin and a streak of white running through her hair, and she was wearing shirt and trousers under a stained apron. “The name’s Gerda. What do you… oh no, not you!”

She was staring right into Caliban’s face, and he shrank back in his seat. Balthezar, looking from the dwarf to the lizardfolk, grimaced in annoyance. He then waved a hand and spoke.

“My good madam, forgive me, but this is my guest.”

“Caliban?” she demanded, “Caliban’s your guest? You’re crazy.”

“Why not? He’s been living on the street. I figured he could use a hot meal.”

“He gets a meal every other day from my trash cans!” she cried.

“W-well, this time I’m paying his way,” said Balthezar, weakening, his shyness resurfacing as he could see eyes all around the dining hall staring at them, “I have money. I’ll take two orders of good meat and, uh, drink? And a room if you please.”

“One room for the both of you?” she asked, her expression of annoyance transforming into one of incredulity.

“That will be fine, thank you,” he said, the insinuation going right over his head.

She snorted in laughter, before shrugging her shoulders and said, “Whatever straightens your horns, buddy. Two specials, mead, and a room. That’ll be thirteen. Up front, on account of this little trash monster you’re hosting.”

Balthezar’s eyes suddenly went wide, and his face went pale. Thirteen? That’s what meat and mead and a room at an inn cost? He panicked all over again, wondering what his master thought, only sending him to Waterdeep with ten gold. He reached for his coinpurse, praying that perhaps four more gold might appear in his bag, but when he looked in, there was the same nine gold he had. He cleared his throat, trying not to seem nervous, as he slowly counted out the coins on the table.

“One, two,” he counted, laying the gold out, he didn’t even get to three before she snatched the two coins from the table and walked away.

“W-wait!” Balthezar cried.

“What?” the woman called back, “You’ll get change! Less’n you’re after something else?”

“It’s just… I only paid you two,” said Balthezar, suddenly afraid he was cheating this poor woman.

“Huh?”

“You said it cost thirteen, and…”

“Thirteen silver, dumbass!” she cried, “You weren’t really going to dump thirteen gold out, were you?”

“Uh… I only had nine. I was afraid…”

He was interrupted by the slap of the woman’s hand smiting her own forehead. Despite this, she was smiling. She walked back to the table and leaned over it. The top few buttons of her shirt were undone, and both scaled creatures could see the freckles atop the flat table formed by her breasts.

“You new in town?”

“Huh? I, uh… yes. Yes I am.”

“You look like it, and act like it,” she said, her voice softening, “That why you took pity on Caliban here?”

“Well, it seemed like the right thing to do,” said Balthezar, “And you don’t have to talk about him like he’s not even here. He’s sitting right across from me.”

“He’s a lizardman, Dragonborn,” she said, “They don’t feel nothing anyway. Buying him a meal won’t make him like you any. Their kind’s cold-blooded.”

“That’s not why I’m doing it. It’s simply the right thing to do,” Balthezar insisted, touching the holy symbol still hanging around his neck. The dwarf noticed that gesture and smirked. “And body temperature has nothing to do with emotional range.”

“Whatever you say,” she muttered, before she reached forward and, unprompted, pinched some of the loose, scaly skin of his soft face, making him lean towards the dwarf, grunting in pain, “You’re cute, holy man. Hope this city doesn’t beat that out of you too quick.”

At this, Caliban began to stand, reacting as though the dwarf was threatening his friend. However, the woman shot the lizardfolk with a dull, unamused stare, before she walked away.

“Caliban, sit. She didn’t mean anything by it,” said Balthezar, rubbing the side of his face, “Maybe she noticed I’ve got a slightly higher core temperature than she does and realizes that emotions aren’t dictated by body warmth.”

Caliban stared at Balthezar, before he sank back into his seat and waited patiently for his meat. Balthezar’s cheek soon felt better, and he smiled across the table. However, the dragonborn noticed that the reptile’s eyes were focusing on his chest, right at his holy symbol.

“You are a shaman.”

“Huh? Shaman?”

“You weave magic. A shaman. We had shamen in our tribe.”

“Oh! Of course!” Balthezar said, his eyes immediately lighting up at the subject of magic, “This is a rather recent phenomenon, I must admit! I couldn’t use magic before… gosh, it must have been just a week ago I started manifesting powers. Divine sourced magic, if you’re curious.”

“You are a shaman of the gods, then?”

“Of Deneir. At least I think it’s Deneir. All the signs point to Him,” Balthezar explained, touching the icon of the candle around his neck, “I’ve had very little time to process this, honestly. It’s the reason I was sent here, to… train, I suppose. A trial by fire. I must return to Candlekeep once I’ve found the truth of my powers.”

“It is a good tool.”

“Tool? I suppose so,” said Balthezar, “In truth, I wanted to learn magic the proper way. I had a spell book and everything!”

“And you did not learn?”

“I… I couldn’t. I copied down spells but couldn’t get anything to work. I wasn’t smart enough to run the formulae on the fly. I tested myself for sorcerous powers once as well. It was a disaster.”

Caliban nodded his head, listening intently to Balthezar’s story. The dwarf’s words were bothering him, and he wondered if it was true that Caliban didn’t really care, and that he was just projecting feelings onto the creature, but at the same time, Caliban was alive. He deserved to be treated with respect, surely.

“Then,” he continued, “All at once I could do it, but it wasn’t quite right. It happened after I pulled a particularly long all-nighter finishing up an essay.”

“Ess. Aye?”

“Oh! Of course, a, uh… a paper. A collection of thoughts and conclusions on a subject. I had a bit of a job as an essayist under the elder sages. Even though I didn’t have much of a practical talent for magic, I still enjoyed the study of it. I was writing a thesis on applications of the weave in everyday life, and the mechanics of arcane means of influencing matter, especially with respect to transmutation, and… uh….”

He could see by the blank look on the lizardfolk’s face that Caliban was utterly lost. Balthezar shook his head and smiled.

“It’s not important. The interesting part is that after I finished, I intoned a prayer to Deneir. All the acolytes and scribes do it. It’s a part of the ritual. You complete something – a letter, an essay, a book, whatever – and you pray to Deneir as thanks for the inspiration to finish the work. I suppose… lightning struck. I was alone in my chamber, next to a lit candle – his holy symbol – in a library – essentially a huge church dedicated to knowledge – praying to a god who aligned with my beliefs and ideals very well. By the next morning, I heard this strange music, as if it was playing in my very soul, and found that I could… fix things? It’s hard to explain.”

“You did magic.”

“Miracles, more like,” he said, “Divinely inspired magic. Like… here, watch this!”

Suddenly excited, Balthezar reached into the pack at his side, and found a piece of paper. Carefully, he folded the page in half, and slowly ripped it down the center, before laying the two pieces down side by side. With an excited smile on his face, he placed his hands together in a brief prayer, whispering praise to Deneir. Caliban leaned forward to watch as the dragonborn ran a finger over the tear in the paper and, all at once, as if he was tearing it in reverse, the paper mended itself. Caliban’s mouth opened, showing off his sharp teeth, and Balthezar took that as a sort of a smile.

He picked up the piece of paper and presented it, “The miracle of mending. I tore one of the pages of my essay. It was a minor rip in the corner, really, but the head archivist is fastidious about making sure new entries into the archive were in good condition. In my desperation to fix it I found that I could simly undo the damage with a wave of my hand. Only small tears can be fixed, though.”

“I can’t do magic,” said Caliban, crossing his bulky arms in front of his bare chest and nodding his snout up and down, “You must be an invaluable warrior.”

“W-warrior? I mean, I know a bit how to fight, but…”

“Shamen were always indispensable hunters and warriors back home. You are no different.”

Balthezar wondered if he should argue that compliment but decided that it came from a place of sincerity, and smiled, twining his fingers together. Caliban seemed genuinely impressed by his magic, and that was the first time anyone had really been impressed by him. The scribes had been surprised, but most of them were already great mages in their own right. A few cantrips weren’t going to impress them.

“Thank you,” Balthezar said, “I mean that.”

“I mean what I say as well,” said Caliban, “But you should not be thanking me. You are feeding me. I owe you the shares of two hunts now.”

“You really don’t! I don’t mind. It’s my pleasure to help.”

However, Caliban shook his head, “I must return favors done to me in kind. That is how it works.”

“Not necessarily! Sometimes something can be given freely. I don’t expect anything in return.”

Caliban stared, as if he was trying to unravel some sort of puzzle. Soon, he shook his head, giving up trying to decipher Balthezar’s motives.

“You are strange.”

“I am?”

“I never met anyone who thinks like you,” said the lizardfolk, “I like you.”

Hearing that sent a little thrill through Balthezar’s chest, and it caused him to smile. Gerda was wrong. Caliban could feel. He was just subdued. The dragonborn, wishing to connect with the reptile, reached forward and touched the back of Caliban’s scaly hand. Caliban stared at Balthezar’s hand for a moment, before he looked back up into his face. He made no move to pull his hand away until Balthzar did.

Meat and mead came, and they were soon feasting together, talking of nothing much else, but enjoying one another’s company the whole time. Eventually, the meat was finished, and there was only the pitcher of mead between them. Balthezar, an inexperienced drinker, was unused to the sweet, strong drink, and sipped it, alternating between a grimace at the tart flavor and a pleased smile as unfamiliar warmth spread through him. Caliban, on the other hand, guzzled his share of the drink, all but pouring the gold-colored honey wine down his open throat. Even so, he hardly seemed to feel it, and after a few hours of peaceful drink, Balthezar could feel his head beginning to spin, while Caliban seemed as steady as ever. All the while, Balthezar did not notice that both of the lizardfolk’s eyes were focused directly on his host’s faintly smiling face.

Finally, in a lull in the small talk which they had indulged in while enjoying their meal, Caliban leaned forward, staring hard into Balthezar’s face. Balthezar, at this point having no reason to fear this lizardfolk, smiled wider and took another long draw from his glass, growing to enjoy the taste of the sweet drink.

“Cloudgazer,” said Caliban, slowly.

“Huh? Hm, I, uh… Yes?” stammered the dragonborn. His smile faded as he realized the intensity of Caliban’s gaze.

“I want to sleep,” said Caliban, standing, “I will return to my den.”

“Your den?” Balthezar said, confused for a moment. However, he realized what Caliban was saying and stood up, placing the cup gently on the table, “Wait. You don’t have to go. I paid for a room here.”

“That is not my den. I must return.”

“Where’s your den?”

Caliban waved an arm vaguely in the direction of the south, and said, “Under the docks, there is a place I rest my head.”

“Absolutely not!” cried Balthezar. He spoke so loudly that every single eye in the inn turned to stare at the dragonborn, but he was too tipsy to notice, and continued, “I can’t let you sleep under a pier somewhere.”

“I have done it before.”

“And it was wrong then, too.”

“I… I don’t understand. I am sorry.”

“No! No, don’t be sorry, please,” said Balthezar, reaching forward and taking the lizardfolk’s hand before he could leave, “It’s not your fault. I would feel better if you were off the street is all. I just feel as if that’s something I should do.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why. It’s just right is all!” said Balthezar, the grip on the lizardfolk’s hand tightening, “I’ve never had to think about what I would do in situations like these before. I always thought maybe I would know the right thing to do when I saw it, and so, I… I have to trust my judgement. I was chosen by Deneir for a reason. Maybe one of those reason is so I could help people get on their feet. You can’t keep going like this. You’re going to get flogged by the police, or executed, exiled, or… or worse, you’ll starve to death in some alley somewhere, or die of consumption or poison yourself with food you found in the garbage or… or a million other things that could happen. If I let one person kill themselves like that, what stops me from letting the next one go, or the next? Why bother helping anyone if I don’t try my best to help the first person I come across who seems to need me?”

The lizardfolk was frozen, and slowly, the conversations in the bar rose back up as the patrons of the inn continued to ignore the two scaly creatures. Soon, Caliban stared with one eye down to the dragonborn’s tightly clasped hand, and with the other he looked up into Balthezar’s face.

“I don’t understand,” he said, slowly.

“That’s quite alright. I hardly understand it myself. I’m just… following what I think is right.”

“Right…” muttered Caliban, “I will owe you three shares of my hunt. I would be indebted to you for life.”

“No you won’t! How many times must I explain that I give you everything freely?”

“Even so, that… isn’t good,” said Caliban, “You’re giving me meat and a new den, and I have nothing to give back. It is… not right. You say you are doing what is right. It makes me want to do right too.”

“O-oh?”

“And I think what is right is to settle our debt, even if it cannot be done.”

With that, Caliban reached down with his other hand and clasped Balthezar’s hand in both of his. The grip was painfully strong, but the dragonborn managed to stay quiet as he listened to the lizardfolk.

“You cannot be good alone. I will be good too.”

“I… I’m glad to hear it,” said Balthezar, his smile turning bashful, “Is there anything you need from your, uh, former den before we go upstairs for the night?”

Caliban shook his head, “No. It is just a place.”

“Alright then. In the morning, we can, uh…”

Balthezar hadn’t thought that far ahead. His drink-addled brain didn’t know what the next step was. Not only was he here in this unfamiliar town, but he had essentially adopted this creature – this person, he corrected himself. Other people already treated Caliban like a monster. It wouldn’t help if he did the same. After all, they had both been called scalebacks, even though they couldn’t be more different in terms of species. With a smile, Balthezar shook the thoughts from his head, and resolved to think about it in the morning.

“We’ll find work,” said Balthezar, “Like you said, I have a good tool with this magic, and you’ve got a strong back. We can support ourselves. In the meantime, sleep!”

With that, Balthezar turned and picked up his travel pack, slinging it over his shoulder, before he began to walk towards the back stairs, with Caliban in tow. Who cares if he’s only got seven gold and seven little pieces of silver in his pouch? Now he knows what things cost! Never mind he apparently paid a small fortune for five apples! That was a mistake he would not make twice!

Caliban, one arm slack and the other in Balthezar’s gentle grip, allowed himself to be led to the stairs up to the inn, one eye on his new friend, but the other darting around the room, where a few of the patrons were smirking at the pair over their drinks. Gerda in particular smiled and waved as they climbed the stairs. Caliban waved back, causing a little titter of laughter among the diners.

Soon, Balthezar found their room, and managed to find the little key Gerda had brought with their food. He untangled his hand from Caliban’s grip and, with both hands, unlocked it and stepped through. Immediately, he took in the little brown chamber with the slanted roof. It was barely ten feet wide, with a single bed, and barely a chest to keep his things in. He supposed that didn’t matter. Neither of them had much in the way of things. Other than a small washbasin on a table and a chamberpot, there wasn’t much in the way of a toilette for the two of them, and Balthezar was instantly nervous, but put the thoughts out his mind.

“Well, uh,” he said, stepping inside and gesturing for the bed, “Make yourself at home.”

Caliban stepped into the room, and Balthezar closed the door behind them. Figuring there was no reason for undue modesty, considering the tight quarters, the dragonborn decided to get comfortable. He placed his pack into the cabinet provided for him at the base of the bed, before he loosened the top of his robes. He walked over to the washbasin then and, feeling somewhat filthy, he found a washcloth and dipped it into the water, before wiping his face and behind his neck. The water was cool and relaxed him, and he smiled, eager for the end of that long day.

He heard the sound of rustling cloth then, and then the faint impact of fur hitting a corner. Balthezar’s eyes opened wide and he turned to see that Caliban had shucked his loincloth, which was lying, stinking, in one corner of the room as far away from the bed as possible. The lizardfolk was no less impressive a specimen of his species nude, and Balthezar soon felt his face grow warm as he saw the reptile move with a relaxed grace across the room. Caliban then crawled into bed, lying down on top of the blankets and pillows and turning around like a dog, finding a comfortable position, before he seemed to curl up into a ball, his eyes open and staring at Balthezar.

Realizing that Caliban had already claimed the bed, Balthezar sighed, but accepted it. Slowly, he undid his own robe and slipped it off, revealing the long underwear he had been wearing for the journey. They would need a washing with the laundress down the street. That would probably be a few coppers. He wondered if she would do a bear-skin loincloth, and he shook his head. Better to just buy the poor lizard a new one than suffer that old one to live. That’s probably another few silvers. Slowly, he moved adjacent to the bed and, using his robes to create a makeshift pillow, blanket, and mattress, he sat down on the floor next to the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Huh?”

“This is your den. You choose who sleeps where,” said Caliban, “If I am to sleep on the floor…”

“No! Of course not,” said Balthezar, “I’m fine down here.”

“I’m not fine with you down there,” answered Caliban, before he crawled to the side of the bed and all but dragged the dragonborn to his feet and then pulled him into bed. Balthezar, taken off guard, fell into the bed with a sudden squeak and, a moment later, he was lying on his side next to Caliban. To his astonishment, he was nose-to-nose with the reptile, close enough to smell the meat and mead on the reptile’s breath. Both stared into the other’s eyes at this, Balthezar flush with bashfulness, and Caliban quietly taking in his bedmate’s scent.

Balthezar found himself struck dumb by the presence of this lizardfolk, as he allowed himself, in a moment of blank surprise, to realize for the first time that he found the shape of the reptiles’s snout quite pleasing. His stomach was alive with nerves as his eyes widened. He had no idea what this feeling meant. He had never known it in the library. He had never shared a bed with anyone. He had never looked at any of his fellow acolytes, all humans and elves, in this way. When Caliban began to reach an arm up to touch the dragonborn, as if he sensed the feeling, he felt his breathing quicken. Slowly, Balthezar found himself pulled into a slow, insistent embrace, until the two of them were hugging, hips pressed against one another. After another moment, with the smells of their body odor intensifying, Caliban placed a hand under Balthezar’s undershirt, caressing the dragonborn’s chest, slowly. He didn’t complain. He was too astonished.

It wasn’t until Caliban reached forward with his snout, burying his nose in the dragonborn’s neck that Balthezar’s fear began to get the better of him. When he felt a wet feeling travel up the side of his neck, all the way up to his face, he reached forward himself, bracing against the solid frame of this lizardfolk as he tasted his bedmate.

“G-goodnight!” Balthezar said, quickly, turning himself over so that his back was to the lizardfolk. His eyes were wide, and sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. However, Caliban, still caressing the dragonborn’s body, repeated, “Goodnight, Cloudgazer,” before he embraced Balthezar around the chest and pressed himself against the dragonborn’s back. Balthezar’s breath caught in his throat. He could not think in words, they were all too jumbled in his head. All he could think of was the feeling of the creature’s tongue tickling his throat, and the feeling of their hips grinding together for but a moment. Even now, the broad, firm chest pressed against his back caused Balthezar’s whole body to shudder, but he had no idea what to do with this feeling, or where to put it, and so he pushed it down and closed his eyes.

Eventually, a soft snoring began to sound from the lizardfolk as he drifted off to sleep, and Balthezar felt as if he could relax. The reptile’s arms were still clutching on to him possessively, but he had to admit, it felt sort of nice to be held this way, and so he settled into the feeling, laying his head against the pillow, and began to recite in his head the formula for a simple, magical incantation. Eventually, he began to hear that slow melody of the universe, and he opened his eyes. Why now? Why could he hear it now, in the arms of this creature?

He realized then that it didn’t matter. Whenever he heard that song, it was a gift, and so he smiled, closed his eyes and let the twin sensations of Caliban’s embrace and Deneir’s lullaby send him off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balthezar and Caliban are given their first job in Waterdeep, and immediately everything goes wrong.

When morning came, Caliban’s arms were crossed in front of his chest, clutching something that wasn’t there. His eyes were still closed, and the heaviness was leaving them. All at once, he opened his eyes. His surroundings were unfamiliar to him. He was lying in a bed, in a building. He shot up, his back going rigid, and he snarled, trying to remember what had happened the night before. It all came back to him in moments. That strange tail-less lizard who spoke like a human had saved his life, given him a meal, and a place to sleep. He had drifted away hugging the strangely warm body of his new friend Balthezar the Cloudgazer, lulled to sleep by the solid feeling of his body and surrounded by his strange scent. He looked around but found that his new friend was nowhere to be seen.

“Cloudgazer…?” he muttered, remembering the name he could pronounce. His tail curled around his body protectively. He felt strange here, sitting on the soft mattress, with sunlight streaming in through the open window. He had felt exposed ever since coming to this city all those weeks ago. In comparison, he felt strangely safe now, but knew he would not be at ease until he knew where his friend had gone.

A noise caused his eyes to focus on the door, and he took a defensive posture, mouth open, back hunched, and tail whipping about behind him, stirring up the pillows and blankets on the bed. It had come from the hall, footsteps. Whose, he did not know. When the knob began to twist and the door opened, he tensed up.

“Caliban?” said Balthezar, “Are you still here?”

Immediately, Caliban relaxed. He sat back down, his tail coming to a rest, and his mouth closing. He did not smile – smiling was for convincing other people you were happy. He simply sat quietly, content that his friend had not abandoned him.

“Hello Cloudgazer.”

“Ah. Still calling me that, eh?” Balthezar said, the nerves in his voice clear, although Caliban did not know enough about people of civilization to catch the significance, “I… suppose it’s fine.”

“You want me to call you something else?”

“Oh! No! It’s just…” Balthezar began, entering the room and closing the door behind him. He was carrying a tray with a cloche over it, and he laid it down upon the table next to the washbasin, alongside a pair of towels and a jug of steaming water. “It wasn’t the nicest name, is all. The others at Candlekeep called me that because I would just… stare at the sky for hours, trying to figure out what the clouds meant.”

“The clouds?”

“Yes! I suppose I was always a curious child. I never had a family name, so Cloudgazer just stuck,” said Balthezar, smiling, before he lifted the cloche off of the tray, revealing a platter of hard cheese and fruit. Immediately, Caliban was on his feet, and all at once Balthezar was aware of the lizard’s nudity.

“Food?”

“Something to break our fast. Only a few coppers. I’m afraid meat is likely too expensive to have at every meal – I must make the money I have left stretch until I find myself some work. Still, anything I have is yours.”

Caliban stepped forward, staring at the meal set out in front of him. He seemed not to believe it. Once again, the tail-less lizard had brought him a meal. At this rate, he would never be able to pay him back. Even so, he was hungry, but not as hungry as he tended to be in the mornings. He decided he would take only half and leave the rest for his friend. He reached forward with his bare hands, filling his arms with fruit and cheese, and carried his share to the bed to eat.

“I thought we might, er, bathe as well, perhaps?” said Balthezar as he hoisted up the jug of steaming water and placed it on the floor next to the bed, “I can’t afford a bathhouse – I checked the prices. We’re a long way from that. But Gerda was a dear and let me borrow some towels and boiled us some water. How about it? I wash your back, you wash mine.”

“Wash…?”

“Surely you’ve had a bath before.”

Caliban stared, chewing already on an entire pear, stem and all, as he blinked his eyes. Balthezar’s face fell.

“Oh, dear. Well, I won’t judge. Your people come from watery places, don’t you?”

“The swamp, yes.”

“Well, that makes sense, then. You bathe all the time,” Balthezar said, with a chuckle, before he gestured for Caliban to climb off of the bed and sit on the floor, “Considering its fairly dry here, the rest of us have to wash with water we draw up from the well.”

“I see. That is why everyone here smells of nothing. They bathe.”

“Well, not everyone,” Balthezar muttered with a brief grimace, as if he had recently encountered an unpleasant example, “But in any case, sit on the floor and eat. I’ll give you a rub down.”

Caliban did as he was told. He owed the dragonborn that much. He sat down on the floor, his armful of fruit and cheese coming with him, and he laid the bounty out on the bare boards of the floor. As he did, Balthezar placed one of the towels underneath the lizardfolk’s tail to catch any stray drops and then soaked the other as well as he could in the warm water. He then began to rub the reptile’s rough scales with the washcloth, and immediately, a film of dirt and grime came right up off the green scales. To Balthezar’s astonishment, under only a small layer, he saw a more vibrant green, at least the equal of his own, and the color made the dragonborn smile.

“We’re going to need something a little stronger. One moment,” he said, before he stood and wandered over to his pack. He dug around for a moment, before he smiled, and pulled a white bar of something that smelled to Caliban like oil and flowers. “I had one left. Good!”

At that, Balthezar returned to his post and formed a thick lather with the washcloth and soap before he continued to rub down the lizardfolk’s body. Caliban found himself relaxing as the warm water caressed his body, and he slowed his steady chewing, enjoying the feeling of being groomed.

It took quite a while for Balthezar to wash the lizardfolk’s back completely. His tail alone took several minutes of scrubbing to get all of the dirt out from between the scales, but when he was finished, the creature seemed to gleam in the sunlight from the window. Balthezar smiled at his work, and stood to soak the washcloth in the washbasin, staining the water there a deep brown.

“I think that’s about as well as I can do with your back. You can, uh… y-you can do your front yourself I think.”

“I see,” Caliban said, before he thought for several moments, chewing on some hard cheese, and finally said, “Thank you.”

The thanks were unexpected to Balthezar, and he stared at the lizardfolk, before he smiled and gave a little laugh. He then began to remove his robes, down to his undergarments. He removed only his undershirt, before he wrung out the washcloth and returned to the floor, retrieving the cloth he had used to catch the dripping water, and soaking that in the rapidly cooling water to have his own bath.

Balthezar was surprised when, after he had lathered the clean cloth with soap, Caliban’s scaly hand reached forward and snatched it out of his grip. He let it go, knowing he couldn’t match Caliban’s sheer strength, but he still looked back and stared at the reptile.

“What are you…?”

“It is your turn,” said Caliban, “I will do as you did for me.”

“You… want to wash my back?”

Caliban nodded. Balthezar’s eyes went wide, remembering his strange feelings from the night before, but he pushed them aside, and forced a smile.

“Well, alright,” he said, turned back around and preparing himself for a little pampering, “Go ahead, sure.”

However, when he didn’t feel the dampness of the cloth, the dragonborn blinked his eyes and looked back. He saw that the lizardfolk was frozen, staring at him.

“Your clothes.”

“What? I’m down to my skivvies.”

“I was not wearing clothes. They will get wet.”

Balthezar went flush all over again as he realized what Caliban meant. He looked down and saw that he was still wearing long underwear over his loincloth. Caliban was right. If it got wet, it would mean a whole day of discomfort. He didn’t have a change of clothes. However, the thought of stripping down to nothing in front of Caliban was worrying for some reason.

“What is wrong?” asked Caliban, unaware of Balthezar’s modesty.

“Er, nothing!” said Balthezar, standing up quickly, “I’ll just, uh… don’t look, alright?”

“How can I wash you if I cannot look?”

“I… uh… oh, nevermind, just…” Balthezar stammered, picking at the edges of his long johns, before he swallowed hard. Slowly, he let the long underwear fall, before he pulled the ties holding his loincloth untied and let the cloth fall from his nethers. He placed his underwear on the bed and quickly sat back down, his hands over his nethers to cover himself.

Soon after, satisfied, Caliban began. The water had lost much of its heat, but Balthezar was used to cold baths in Candlekeep, and enjoyed the feeling all the same.

“You are cleaner than I was,” said Caliban.

“I usually had a bath a couple of times a week back home. I’ve been on the road for days without one. Mostly I just need a little sponging here,” said Balthezar, raising his arms, “Under the arms would be helpful.”

Caliban nodded and began to scrub his friend under the arms, first one, and then the other. Balthezar shuddered at the tickling sensation but suppressed his laughter. Soon, Caliban traveled down, and between the swipes of the washcloth, Balthezar could feel curious fingers touching him all along his smooth back. They felt as if they were exploring him, and when he peeked over his shoulder, he saw that the reptile was comparing the broad, rough scales of his arms with the smooth, draconic ones that covered Balthezar. Balthezar smiled, thinking that such curiosity seemed healthy to him, and he turned his head back and closed his eyes to relax. However, when he felt fingers begin to cup the cheeks of his rump, he jumped.

“What are you…?”

“Where did your tail go?” asked Caliban, something like concern in his voice, “There is no scar. It has not begun to grow back.”

“What?” Balthezar said, before he realized what it was Caliban was asking, “I told you before. I don’t have a tail. I’m not a lizardfolk, Caliban. I’m something else.”

“You are?”

The dragonborn couldn’t help but laugh, although it had just as much to do with the nerves of this muscled reptile caressing his posterior, looking for evidence of a tail. “Yes. I’m Dragonborn.”

“You are a dragon?” asked Caliban, as his eyes began to dart about independently of one another, inspecting Balthezar’s body anew, “You are so small. Are you a hatchling?”

“No, no! I wasn’t born from a dragon. I’m of the Dragonborn race, just as you are from the Lizardfolk race.”

“Is that why you think and act like one of the soft-skins?”

“Well, I… yes I suppose so. I was raised among them. I… don’t really know how a dragonborn is supposed to act, in truth.”

“You should not learn a different way,” said Caliban, continuing to scrub with the washcloth, “I like the way you are.”

Balthezar couldn’t help but smile at this. He had to admit, this unexpected friendship was a long time coming. He had never really had a friend quite like Caliban back in Candlekeep. Distance and quiet were the norms in the grand library, and even when he spoke to friends, there was a respectful, comfortable distance between them. There seemed to be no distance at all between Caliban and other people, and that feeling made the dragonborn strangely happy, as if he was getting to know someone truly for the first time ever, and that someone was finally starting to get to know him.

As he thought on this, he nearly didn’t realize that Caliban had begun to reach around and was scrubbing his chest, allowing his own body to press up against Balthezar’s back. The feeling was pleasant, as the creature’s rough scales felt nice against his own smoother ones. However, when Caliban began to reach down to begin to wash him below the waist, Balthezar’s eyes went wide.

“That’s enough! That’s enough!” he cried, standing up and pulling away from Caliban. With one hand covering himself he gathered up his underclothes and hurried to pull them on. Without rinsing, he could feel the wetness of his scales seep into the clothes as he put them on, and he shuddered slightly, but he had no choice at this point, “Thank you Caliban.”

“Eat,” said Caliban, standing up and beginning to wash his own front, unconcerned that Balthezar could see everything, “You have not eaten.”

“Huh?” said Balthezar, before he turned his head and saw the tray full of fruit and cheese still sitting there, “Oh! Of course!”

With that, he took the wrung-out washcloth in one hand and went to work drying himself off at least a little before he put on his robes, all the while digging in to a piece of fruit and a few slices of cheese, as Caliban watched hungrily. Eventually, Balthezar had eaten his fill, and offered the rest to the Lizardfolk, who immediately began to feast. The dragonborn knew he should have found the sight disturbing, but, strangely, he found it rather endearing.

\--

The day wore on, the itchiness of the unrinsed soap passed, and the two friends wandered the city, trying to find work. Caliban walked with a strange pride he did not have before, although Balthezar accepted that could have just been his imagination. His scales were clean and shiny, a huge difference from how he had been when he had found him. Even that bear-skin loincloth looked better on him, although not that much. The dragonborn couldn’t help but stare every now and then as they walked on.

“Cloudgazer thinks I am not clean enough?”

“What? Oh!” Balthezar stammered, looking away, “No, you’re clean. You look… splendid.”

“You look… splendid… as well.”

He blushed, and smiled, “Thank you, Caliban.”

“Where are we going?”

“I heard from Gerda there was someone looking for people to perform some odd-jobs for them at a place called... uh…” Balthezar looked down at a piece of paper in his hands, and read out the name, “The Yawning Portal. I thought it was worth seeing.”

“Yawning Portal is dangerous.”

“It is?”

“Everyone goes there. Lots of people. Not safe.”

“It was only unsafe because you didn’t know how to act then. I can show you,” said Balthezar, adjusting his spectacles with a smile, “A little courtesy will see us through. Now, uh, which one is the Yawning Portal.”

Caliban said nothing. He simply pointed, and there down the street was a huge inn, three stories tall and crowded with people all around loitering outside. Drunkards were wandering up and down the street, even at this early hour, and all at once Balthezar grew somewhat bashful. Even so, he had talked a big game to Caliban, and he couldn’t go back on that now.

“Come along. We’ll get some money in your hands soon enough.”

With that, the two of them approached, passed by the crowd, and entered. Immediately, both of them were struck by the full glory of the Yawning Portal, and all of the myriad creatures who sat around within its walls. There was a wide dining hall on the first floor, dominated by a huge, black well in the middle, apparently giving this place its name. Above, crowded around on the balconies, all races seemed to mingle together. A middle-aged human stood at the bar, a black moustache and mutton chops upon his face. He squinted as the dragonborn and lizardfolk approached, cleaning a glass which seemed never to lose the spots upon it.

“Travelers,” said the man, “Welcome.”

“Uh… hello,” Balthezar said, painfully aware of how pathetic he sounded, “My, uh, my friend and I are looking for work.”

“Ain’t we all,” the man quipped, before he jerked his head to the side, “You’re fresh green onions, ain’t ya? You’ll want to talk to that one over there.”

Balthezar followed the man’s gesture and saw, in one corner at a round table, an elven gentleman in fine travel clothes, enjoying a glass of blood-red wine.

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know! Ask him yourself! All I know is he’s been hiring your types all night,” cried the barkeeper, sneering down at them, “Now, you buying or not?”

At the man’s nasty tone, Caliban stepped forward, teeth bared, defending his friend. The barkeeper only laughed, pointing over his shoulder where a great sword was hanging over the shelves of liquor like a trophy.

“Try me, scaleback,” he said, and to Balthezar he continued, “Control your pet in here, or I’ll ask you both to leave, get me?”

“O-oh course, sir! We apologize,” said Balthezar, grabbing hold of Caliban by the arm and pulling him towards the elf, “Come along Caliban.”

The Lizardfolk only hissed, disliking this human with the mutton chops immediately. However, as he was pulled away, he turned and saw the elf they approached, and he mastered his face. His friend seemed to have things well in hand so far.

“Excuse me, sir?” said Balthezar.

Lazily, the elf looked up, immediately sizing up the two of them. A furrow of his brow and a little soundless laugh let Balthezar know how ridiculous he and Caliban looked as a duo, but he ignored it, instead bowing deeply as he was taught to do when meeting an elven emissary. Caliban stared at his friend, and soon copied him, bowing awkwardly at the waist.

“Good day. My name is Balthezar Cloudgazer. This is my friend Caliban,” said the dragonborn, straightening out, “I heard you were looking for help with something. My friend and I would be glad to help.”

The elf stared for a moment in between sips of wine, before he gestured with a hand towards the chairs around the table. The elf had deep bronze skin and pale blonde hair, almost white, and wore crushed velvet and white gloves. He placed the wine on the table carefully, before leaning forward, resting his chin on his hands. Balthezar sat, his stomach wishing to jump out of his throat. Caliban sensed his friend’s anxiety, and so he stayed standing, looming over Balthezar’s shoulder protectively.

“So, you’re it, huh?”

“S-sir?”

“I suppose there’s a drought of beginners right now. No matter. What can you do?”

“Do?”

The elf rolled his eyes, “Not a bard, obviously, and not cocky enough to be a sorcerer or a warlock.”

“O-oh! A Cleric! Of course. A Cleric of Deneir.”

“Deneir?” the elf said, furrowing his brow, “Deneir doesn’t name a chosen often.”

“Um…” Balthezar said, before reaching up to fish his holy symbol from beneath his robes. Upon seeing the candle with an eye in the holder, the elf shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh well. Stranger things have happened. Where did you study?”

“Candlekeep.”

“A librarian, eh? I suppose that makes sense,” said the elf, “My name is Forath. Dispense with the sirs and madams please, you’re not dealing with a lord of Waterdeep or anything.”

“O-oh. I apologize.”

“I need you to clean out a location for me,” the elf said, “A warehouse in the dock ward. I happen to own it.”

“A warehouse? What happened to it?”

“Kobolds,” muttered the elf, with a sneer, “Filthy, disgusting little nobodies decided to squat in my warehouse.”

“Kobolds?” muttered Balthezar, trying to remember what he had read about Kobolds. Obviously, he hadn’t made much of a study of monsters, but he knew at least a little. Small, draconic creatures who fight by swarming their victims. Probably a distant relative of his, if he had to guess. “And you can’t just evict them?”

“They’ve attacked the police we sent to clean them out. I’m on my last raw nerve now. We need something a little more potent. You two seem to fit the bill. A meatshield to cleave them down, and a cleric to patch him up when he’s done.”

“What are they doing in Waterdeep?”

“Ask him,” said the elf, gesturing towards Caliban as he did, “Same difference. Creatures of all sorts come through here. Kobolds, Lizards, Orcs, Goblins… It’s a damn menagerie. Even a hundred years before it wasn’t like this. They didn’t let the riffraff in.”

Balthezar furrowed his brow and adjusted his glasses. “My friend is not riffraff, sir. His name is Caliban.”

“Whatever. I’ll pay you twenty gold each to clear out my warehouse. Is that acceptable?”

Balthezar’s eyes went wide. Wasn’t twenty gold quite a lot of money? Food only truly cost a few coppers.

“What’s that look? This your first adventure or something?” asked the elf with a sneer.

“I… I suppose it is.”

“Well, you had better get used to thinking big. Coppers are for peasants, dragonborn. In the adventure business, gold speaks all tongues.”

“I… I see.”

“Now, you’ll find the warehouse in the Dock Ward. Pier four, the warehouse with my name painted on the side,” the elf said, leaning back and taking his glass of wine back up, “Don’t attack at night. That’s when they come out to play.”

Balthezar was silent at this. He was really being asked to kill. He knew how to fight, of course, but he had never killed anything larger than a fly. He was worried all over again, until Caliban placed a hand on his shoulder. He jumped slightly at the feeling but took some comfort from the gesture.

“Well?” the elf said, finally, “What are you waiting for? Go.”

Scrambling to his feet, Balthezar bowed deeply once again and said, “Yes. We’re on our way,” before he began to lead the lizardfolk out of the bar and out onto the street.

The two of them walked along the street for some time, not saying anything. Caliban was the first to break the silence.

“We hunt Kobolds, then.”

“Hunt? Y-yes. I suppose so,” he said.

“You are uneasy.”

“Well, yes. I’ve never… I mean…”

“You are no hunter?”

Balthezar was embarrassed to hear that, but he had no choice but to nod his head. “I came here to learn how to harness my power, not to… kill people.”

“Are they people? They are kobolds.”

Balthezar turned on his heel then, staring up into the lizard’s face. He seemed angry, an expression Caliban had never seen on his new friend’s face.

“You saw how that elf looked at you. He sees you the same way he sees those kobolds.”

“I am not a Kobold.”

“You might as well have been, as far as he was concerned,” Balthezar said, his expression softening as he realized who he was talking to, “I apologize, I… I’m simply frightened.”

“They are weak. We are strong.”

“Not about our chances. I mean about what this means to… to my God. Deneir values creativity. Creation. Killing is an act of destruction. Would he approve of that?”

“So you do not want to hunt kobolds?”

“I…” said Balthezar, pausing to think, “I think I have no choice. We need this job. But surely, we don’t have to kill them. If they leave the warehouse of their own accord, then…”

“How?”

“We could talk to them!”

“Talk?” asked Caliban, “I am not good at talk.”

“N-neither am I… but it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

“I will follow you, my friend Cloudgazer.”

“Thank you, Caliban. I must meditate for a moment before we get there. I should make sure I am prepared.”

With that, the two of them walked on towards the dock ward, The lizardfolk a step and a half behind the dragonborn, subservient to his unknowing master.

\--

The dock ward was gloomy, even in the mid-day sun. The boardwalks were thick with grime and everything smelled of salt and fish. Even the buildings were darker here, the wood stained by perpetual damp. With some directions, Balthezar and Caliban found pier four, and took the time to find the warehouse with ‘Forath’ painted on the side in fading white letters. They were there.

“What do we do?” asked Caliban, “We have found their den.”

“Y-yes. I… I think it best if I go in first.”

“Alone?”

The word caused a new thrill of fear to come over the dragonborn. Alone. Kobolds weren’t the strongest, by any measure, but if he went in there, he would be outnumbered. They might kill him. He thought again. These Kobolds lived in Waterdeep. They must have known the laws. On the other hand, they were squatting here illegally, and besides, that elf had sent them to kill these creatures. Was that not murder as well? He breathed in deeply and out once again. He needed some assurance that things would turn out alright, and so he touched the holy symbol around his neck and began to pray.

Closing his eyes, he asked, for the first time, for protection. A spell he had only read of and did not know the precise formula to cast. However, as he prayed for guidance, inspiration came to him, and, as if he invented a new spell on the fly, he seemed to know intuitively the arcane gestures and magic intonation required to cast the spell. Caliban stared as the dragonborn was suddenly covered by a clear, shining film which seemed to calm him as he stared at it. The miracle of sanctuary. Balthezar opened his eyes, looking down at his hands, and smiled, thanking Deneir silently, before he walked forward, towards the door of the warehouse. He saw that the lock had been shattered and lay in pieces on the floor. Centering himself, Balthezar place a hand on the knob, and began to twist.

“Wait!” cried Caliban, walking forward.

“Caliban?”

Slowly, the lizardfolk walked forward and gently pushed his friend out of the way. He then turned the knob and opened the door. All at once, a massive clatter of cans and metal sounded out, before a whole avalanche of garbage fell from the doorframe with such force that the lizardfolk was knocked off his feet and was buried completely by scrap metal.

“Caliban!” cried Balthezar.

After a moment, a rustling in the pile let the dragonborn know that the lizardfolk was alright. He dug himself out, only slightly bloodied by the trap, and he jerked his head towards the door.

“Go,” he said, “Call for me if you wish to begin the hunt.”

It was then that Balthezar realized what the lizardfolk had just done. He felt like an idiot. Of course, the door was trapped. He nodded his head and said, “Thank you, my friend,” before he turned towards the door and climbed over the garbage and into the darkness of the warehouse.

Within, it was pitch black, except for the cracks in the roof and walls where tiny shafts of dusty sunlight peeked in, illuminating very little. He could tell that this warehouse was wide and long, with scaffolds up above, and shelves full of Forath’s wares strewn about. The faint glow of his holy sanctuary was not the equal of this level of darkness. Kobolds didn’t need light to see. In fact, too much light hurt them. He had read that somewhere.

“Hello?” he called out into the darkness, “Um, good day! I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

He was answered only by a faint noise of chattering echoing off in the distance. He recognized the words as draconic, although the accent was one he wasn’t used to. It wasn’t the staid Draconic he learned from the book, nor was it the strange, wild accent Caliban spoke with. It was something apart. Some pidgin version of Draconic he wouldn’t be able to understand without his full attention.

“I can hear you!” he called out, “My name is Balthezar. It’s good to meet you. I, uh, I was sent here to… to…”

His fear was overcoming him as he stepped forward into the darkness. He clenched his jaw, before he shook his head and continued.

“I’m afraid the owner of this warehouse would rather you not live here,” he said, “I’m afraid it’s not safe for you here. If you would speak with me, we might come up with a solution together! Do you… do you think that would be alright?”

He knew how pathetic it sounded. He felt a fool, but even so, he had to stand up straight and believe what he was saying.

“I can’t really see anyone. I hear you, though. Could you come and speak with me?” he said, this time in Draconic. Upon hearing draconic coming from this creature’s lips, the chattering stopped.

“What you want?” cried a voice in the common tongue. It was high-pitched, but ragged, and the accent made the language sound broken.

Balthezar looked around but could still see no one. “Oh, hello! Am I speaking to your leader?”

“Leader sleeping!” the voice said, “Talk to me. And keep voice down. We’re all sleeping.”

Of course. They were nocturnal. That made sense. Balthezar took note of that.

“Um. I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s important that I speak to your leader. I think you’re all in danger here. We were hired to, um, do harm to you to drive you out, but…”

“You came to kill us?”

“No! I mean we were hired to, but…”

“Intruder! Go away!”

“Wait! Please, let me explain! We’re not going to kill you. All you have to do is leave. That’s all.”

“Or else you kill?”

“Um… I…” Balthezar paused, what would they do if the Kobolds didn’t cooperate? “I don’t want it to come to that.”

“With big people it always like that!” the voice screeched, “Go away! We no want you here!”

“Well, I want that to change, alright? I’m not leaving until I speak to your leader.”

“Then die, fake dragon!” the voice screeched. Balthezar could hear the sound of a bowstring being drawn back, and he flinched, sure an arrow would come out of the darkness at any time. However, the sound was followed by nothing, and then by a frustrated grunt. “Why I can’t attack?”

“Um. Listen, please,” knowing he had only scant moments before the spell might fade, “I’m not your enemy. Please believe me. I want to help.”

“You cast a spell! You charmed me!”

“N-no, I…”

“Intruder!” the kobold soon screamed at the top of his lungs, before a sudden noise rose up, a clanking alarm that filled the warehouse with a cacophony of noise. Balthezar held the sides of his head to block out the noise and realized what that meant. They were coming, and he has nothing to use to fight them off.

“Deneir, I need… light!” He intoned, casting a brief incantation over his holy symbol. All at once a bright light emanated from the front of his chest where his holy symbol hung, and all at once he saw them.

There had to be dozens of them, crawling along the shelves, packed in the floors, flooding over the scaffolds above. An undulating thing made of a hundred tiny red bodies, each one resembling a miniature dragon, holding knives in their hands as if they were swords. They were all bearing down upon him at once threatening to swarm him. Even with his sanctuary up, he couldn’t stop them all from attacking. He had to run. This was too much.

He turned away from the flood of bodies intending to leave out the door but found that his way out had been blocked by more of those creatures, shading their yellow eyes from the light from his holy symbol. Fear bubbled in the dragonborn’s breast. Was this it? His adventure in Waterdeep was over already because he insisted on trying kindness?

In his hesitation, he felt the bite of steel into the back of his leg. A small wound opened up as a kobold managed to reach past his sanctuary. It flickered, probably only good for a matter of seconds. He had to find his way out now. He felt bile rise in the back of his throat, the taste of his own poison covering his tongue and making him grimace. As a child of dragons, he could poison them all with his breath, but he found he didn’t want to. These were still people!

“C-Caliban!” he cried, hating himself for his cowardice, “Caliban! Help!”

He expected to see the lizardfolk appear at the doorway, crawling over the pile of garbage to make short work of the two kobolds blocking his escape. However, a moment passed and nothing happened. He felt another knife sink into his leg, and then felt a sling bullet knock against his face. He cried out, holding his face. When he pulled his hand away, he saw a shock of red against his green scales.

“Caliban?” he cried again, truly frightened. His sanctuary was fading. He reached for the mace at his belt. All he had to do was escape. Just two strikes, and he would be clear. Even so, what had happened to Caliban? Had he been ambushed outside? “Caliban?”

All at once, there was a sudden sound on the wall next to the door. All eyes turned, and all of the kobold’s chatter turned to silence as they stared at that spot. All at once, the wood splintered, and something crashed through, sending wood everywhere and bathing the whole chamber in bright sunlight. Immediately the Kobolds hissed and drew back from the light of the sun. Balthezar thought he was saved, until a moment later when he saw what had smashed through the door.

Caliban was laying on the floor, bathed in sunlight. His eyes were spinning independently, taking in his surroundings, and he began to struggle to his feet. There was a massive gash across his chest. Balthezar cried out his name again, rushing over, heedless of the threat of the Kobolds. The last of the sanctuary protected him from most of the attacks, and the light of the sun blinding the Kobolds protected him from the rest as he knelt to inspect Caliban’s wounds. The reptile was still awake, and one of his eyes was locked on a point outside of the warehouse. No matter, Balthezar knew what he had to do. He laid his hands on the gash and focused, listening for the song of the universe. He hummed low, attempting to harmonize with it, and the power flowing through his friend closed the worst of his wounds.

“So! The scaleback had friends inside after all,” said a voice outside, a gruff, female voice, backed up by the clank of armor.

Balthezar looked up and saw her there. Despite having a more human frame, she was just as tall if not taller than the dragonborn and lizardfolk, with the tinge of green upon her hands and her chin, just visible under her helmet. Her broad lower jaw jut forward in a rough square, and two tusks, ringed with gold for the sake of vanity, stuck up from her lower lip. Orcish, or at least a half-orc, although Balthezar could not tell exactly under the helmet. She was wearing heavy armor and wielding a massive great axe with two hands. A drop of Caliban’s blood fell from the blade, and she smiled.

“Wh-who are you?” demanded Balthezar.

“I should be asking you the same. Me? I’m Hotspur, Mr. Forath’s hire. I’m here to clean out the vermin.”

“Why did you attack Caliban? He didn’t mean you any harm!”

“He tried to stop me,” she said, “Probably in league with the tiny lizards, eh?”

“Y-you…”

With that, Balthezar stood, grasping Caliban and helping him to his feet. The anger on his face was palpable, and he glared hard at this orcish woman.

“I’m trying to get the Kobolds out without slaughtering them! He stopped you so I could work.”

“What? So they can squat somewhere else?” she said with a laugh, “Don’t be daft.”

Balthezar gripped his mace. He wasn’t sure if he could fight this person on his own. The heavy armor would likely turn his weapons, and he felt a deep exhaustion in his soul. He wouldn’t be able to cast any more spells that day. Two and he was finished. He found it humiliating. Still, he had access to some measure of his power, and had practiced his cantrips well. Slowly, he concentrated on his weapon, and brandished it. With a faint crackle, it became wreathed in a bubble of force, ready to be unleashed on the next person he struck with it.

“You could at least try, instead of just assuming they’re monsters.”

“Looks like they beat you up some. You’re bleeding yourself.”

He reached up at this, touching the bleeding wound on his forehead again. Caliban looked over, sniffing at the wound, and he snarled all around, realizing for the first time the Kobolds still cowering from the sunlight all around the warehouse.

“Only because they thought I was like you,” he said, calmly, “And I was going to kill first and ask questions later.”

“You’re a fool, holy man. I won’t kill you. I’ll just rough you up a bit and leave you bleeding in an alley, how’s about that?”

With that, the orc stepped forward. She had a helmet on her head, but underneath it, Balthezar could see a long, black braid swinging behind her.

“Caliban?” asked Balthezar, “Can you fight?”

Caliban reached up and touched the wound at his chest in wonder. It had almost completely closed. It probably wouldn’t even leave a scar. He looked up at his friend in admiration and nodded his head.

“Do I kill?”

“I would prefer not,” said Balthezar, turning to the orc, “But if you do, I won’t blame you.”

That was all Caliban needed to hear. Immediately, he breathed in deep, flexing all of his muscles at once and leaning back. He unleashed the must unholy roar Balthezar had ever heard, which startled him, and caused the Kobolds inside to flee even further. He stared at his friend, who had his teeth bared, eyes held wide open, and was hissing constantly like a wild animal. He began to run, his feral posture forcing him to touch the ground with his hands as he led with his mouth. He attacked before the woman could even react, lashing out with his teeth, biting hard into her arm. The armor took the brunt of the blow, but she still screamed in sudden surprise.

“Cursed scaleback! Get off me!” she screamed, trying to shake the lizard’s jaws loose. When she couldn’t, she lashed out with her axe. It found purchase in the lizardfolk’s shoulder, but the creature hardly seemed to notice. He was too far gone to care about a flesh wound like that.

Distracted by the lizardfolk, the woman almost didn’t see the dragonborn approach from the other side and land a blow with his mace. She grunted at the impact but stayed on her feet.

“Caliban! Get away from her!” cried Balthezar as he backed up, she attempted to lash out at the cleric, but with Caliban’s teeth in her arm, she couldn’t manage it.

The lizardfolk followed his friend’s order, letting go of the orc’s arm, before he stepped away and readied himself to attack as soon as she stepped forward, intent on protecting Balthezar. The dragonborn realized in that moment that while one eye was darting all around the battlefield, the other was glued to him, always making sure he was safe.

“Damn… scalebacks! Pequod! You bastard! Where are you?” The orc said, the twin blows from her opponents weakening her. However, she could still move, and stepped forward.

Suddenly, she screamed. Unbeknownst to her, the power which coalesced on Balthezar’s mace had settled on her armor. As soon as she took a step, that power was unleashed, exploding with a thunderous force, smashing into her already raw wound. The noise was palpable, like close thunder, and she fell to her knees from the sheer force of it, hurling orcish curses their way. As she whipped her head around, she felt her helmet fly from her head, and both of them could finally see her face. The jaw was all orc, but the blue eyes and dainty nose were human as they came, except for the green. Definitely half-orc.

Balthezar was afraid someone else might have been coming. Who was Pequod? Was that a name? He looked around, waiting for someone to answer. The half-orc seemed to be waiting as well, and when no one came, she swore once, loudly and rose to her feet.

“This… this isn’t over…” she muttered, stepping away. Blood was flowing from her mouth, the internal damage taking enough of a toll that she could hardly stand, “Magic… I hate magic…”

With that, she turned and began to run as fast as her legs could carry her. Balthezar watched her go, astonished. Did they win? Truly?

A moment later, Balthezar noticed that Caliban was turning his attention to the warehouse. He was still hissing, with teeth bared. He realized in an instant what the Lizardfolk was doing and rushed to stop him. He was still angry, and the wounds from the Kobolds were still fresh. Without fear, Balthezar grabbed hold of the lizard’s face. Caliban turned and snarled, ready to snap his jaws on whoever had dared touch him, when he saw Balthezar’s face looking back at him with a kindly expression.

“Cloudgazer…” said Caliban, the rage leaving his heart in an instant at the sight of his friend.

“It’s over,” he said, “Thank you.”

“What about them?”

Both turned to look at the hole in the wall of the warehouse, and saw that within, several of the braver kobolds had approached, peeking out with squinting eyes to watch the battle. As the lizardfolk and dragonborn saw them, they ducked down into the darkness within. Balthezar was nervous all over again. There were no more spells he could cast to stop them from attacking, but he wasn’t finished here. Not by a longshot. He turned and called into the hole, knowing the kobolds could hear him.

“We want to speak to your leader,” he said, “May we? Please?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balthezar and Caliban discover that Forath may not be who he says he is, and a new friend joins their party.

Hotspur’s back was arched, and her arms were hanging limply at her sides as she turned a corner down a filthy alley and leaned her back against the wall. Those damn scalebacks! And where was her backup? It was supposed to be easy! Beat some sewer rats, give the fear of the gods to the survivors, collect their pay and move on.

“That damnable bard had better have a good explanation for this…” she muttered, thick brows furrowed.

“When don’t I, Hotspur?”

She turned, first one way, and then the other, eyes wide as she looked around for her partner. Damn him. Where…?

“Up here,” the voice said, smooth as silk, and with a perpetual giggle in it, “Honestly, you couldn’t find a strand of wicker in a basket.”

She turned her head up, scowling, and saw him, crouched in a window right above her. He was huge. She wondered how it was she could have missed his sheer bulk, but he was a bag of mysteries in any case.

“Honestly, Pequod, you weight upwards of three hundred pounds. How can you sneak about like that?”

“It’s got nothing to do with my weight,” he answered, jumping down from the shadowy window, and into the light, “It’s all to do with the shadows.”

As he came into the light, she took in his form. He was wearing nothing but a plaid sash and a hat, and most of his body was a huge, solid shell. His scales were a dull brownish green, and his shell held a ruddy brown pattern upon it which shone with an application of wax. Around his shell he had a dark grey set of bagpipes hanging at his side, and at his waist was a thin rapier. The tortle breathed in, his broad, flat face smiling at his half-orc companion.

“I don’t know what you’ve got to smile about,” she snapped, sneering at him, “Come on, make yourself useful! Heal me or something.”

“Walk it off. I’m not wasting magic on you,” Pequod said, adjusting the pipes around his shoulder.

“Well, you can at least explain why you didn’t come when called, shell-brain.”

“Because you lost, fair and square,” said Pequod, “It was too late. Soon as the cleric came out, we were made.”

“You could have… I dunno, magicked back at him, or…”

“The lizard on his own? Fine. The lizard and the cleric are a different story. Clerics are monsters. We had no idea how much magic he had left, or how good he was at it. He could have healed his buddy, sicced his god on ya, and just made our lives a living hell. You do not engage holy types. Not without some serious backup. One of him’s worth two of me.”

“Then why the hell do I keep you around?” she snarled at the tortle.

“You’re mistaken,” he answered, “I keep you around, not the other way around.”

With that, the bard began to walk with a skip in his step from the alley. Hotspur stared at him go, before she pushed off from the wall and followed.

“Where the hell are you going? We’ve got to finish the job!”

“We will. After the cleric and the lizard do whatever nonsense they intend to do there. Until then, we wait, we pick our moment, and we strike,” said Pequod, leaving the alley and sauntering out into the street, “You coming?”

Hotspur stared after the tortle, grimacing, before she shook her head and followed, holding her aching side as she cursed him out quietly in Orcish.

\--

Balthezar was thankful for the light from his holy symbol. Deeper within the warehouse, some ways from the hole in the wall casting light into the lair of the kobolds, it was pitch black. Caliban clutched hard to Balthezar’s arm, unable to see much outside of the holy aura cast by Deneir’s light. Just on the edge of the light, the two of them could see the kobolds writhing about in the darkness, circling these two strangers, curious about their purpose here, but unwilling to enter the bubble of light. The dragonborn and lizardfolk were sitting on the floor, waiting on bated breath for the appearance of this apparent leader of the kobolds.

“Cloudgazer,” Caliban said, quietly, “I am uneasy.”

“I am too, Caliban,” he said, raising an arm to rest over the lizardfolk’s, both to ease the reptile’s mind, and to ease himself by feeling the rough scales of his friend’s knuckles, “But they haven’t attacked yet. I think we’re safe for now. Trust me.”

“I do, Cloudgazer. I do.”

“Is that your name? Cloudgazer?” a sudden, high-pitched voice said.

Both of them went stiff as they stared out into the darkness, trying to find the source of the voice. A moment later, they saw it. A tiny leg stepped out of the darkness, and then a long, white snout. They noticed his clothing, dressed better than any of the rest of the red-scaled creatures in a clean white shirt, and a pair of brown slacks shaped to fit his long, digigrade heels. He squinted as his eyes entered the light, and he had to take a moment to shade them from the brightness, but when he pulled his hand away, Balthezar could see the reflection from his pale pink eyes. Where the rest of the kobolds ranged from red to pale orange in color, this one was pure white from head to toe. He turned his head, his long, thin snout tilted at a cocky angle as a smile curled up the side.

“I take it… uh…” Balthezar began, “I’m speaking to… to the leader?”

“I’m the elder of this warren,” said the white kobold, “And you are, intruders?”

“Uh… I’m Balthezar, Cleric of Deneir. Uh, I was hired to… to…”

“To drive us out of our home, yes?”

“No! I mean… yes, but…”

“Don’t bother making excuses!” the kobold cried, his voice shrill, “I know what you’re doing here. You’re working for Forath.”

“We… are. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones.”

“So, you drove off the others looking to steal your kills.”

“Look, Sir… What’s your name, please?”

“Ssylo!” he said, the tip of his nose high in the air, “They call me the white dragon.”

As he said this, there came a chorus of kobold voices repeating the name, ‘White Dragon’ causing Balthezar to look around, confused. Despite his size, even relative to other kobolds, this albino creature certainly commanded a great deal of respect.

“Oh, well… Mr. Ssylo, sir,” Balthezar said, “I have no intention of killing anyone. I was hoping we might find an amicable solution. Surely there are other places for you to live.”

“Nobody rents to us!” he snapped, “Nobody, but nobody. We’re just rats to the big people outside! Nevermind we do all the worst work. We clean the sewers, we clean the chimneys, we do everything the big people can’t! We gotta live someplace! Might as well live here.”

“Well, this is someone else’s property,” said Balthezar, “Mr. Forath is…”

“Is a big jerk!” screamed the Kobold suddenly, and he stamped his foot and began to stomp in a circle like a petulant child, “He’s a jerk! Jerk! He sent the cops on us! And you, and that orc, and he’s just a big jerk!”

“He’s the owner! You’re breaking the law, of course he sent the police after you.”

“So you agree with it?”

“Well, I think there should be law and order. That’s the way to peace, isn’t it?”

“We tried law and order! The law don’t fight for us. The law just fights for the bosses, and the landlords, and nobody’s got any scraps left for us at the bottom,” screamed Ssylo, stepping forward, “You’re just like them!”

Suddenly, there was a snarl from Caliban as he snapped his jaws forward, and Ssylo froze in place. The darkness was suddenly alive with chattering and panic, and Balthezar was afraid this was it and they would be swarmed.

“Please, Caliban. Stop,” he said.

“Cloudgazer… he…”

“He… he’s right,” said Balthezar, taking up his mace, his only weapon, and laying it upon the ground, disarming himself, “If the law hasn’t fought for him, he has no reason to follow the law. What choice to we have?”

“But what about money and work?” asked Caliban, “I thought that was important.”

“It… it is, but…” Balthezar stammered, “It… it’s like when I helped you. When I bought those apples. You weren’t being helped by the law, were you?”

Caliban had no answer to this. He simply clung harder onto Balthezar’s shoulder and fell into a thoughtful silence. Balthezar, satisfied that Caliban wouldn’t attack, turned back to the kobold’s leader, trying to project strength on his face.

“I want to help,” he said, “That’s all. No more. No less. I want to find a way that will make everyone happy. It has to exist, doesn’t it?”

Ssylo was quiet at this, squinting his eyes. He took in the dragonborn’s face, tilting his face back and forth, before he took another step forward. Caliban tensed, but made no noise except for a low growl as Ssylo approached.

“Swear it,” he said, “Swear you wanna help me. I know you’re a holy type, right? You gotta keep your word. You say you’re gonna help, so I wanna hear you swear it.”

“I… I swear it, of course.”

“Words are just words. Swear it on that,” said Ssylo, pointing at the holy symbol hanging around the cleric’s neck, “Swear it to your God. Or else.”

At this, the white kobold showed them why they called him the White dragon. As the lizard and dragonborn looked on, the kobold raised a hand and suddenly, it was wreathed in a white magic which curled around the little creature’s four fingers. He slowly flexed his hand, and a chill wind brushed against the two of them, causing the cold-blooded Caliban to flinch in discomfort. Balthezar’s eyes went wide. Sorcery! This Kobold was a sorcerer, and not only that, he was a powerful one. No wonder this warren had been able to repel the police.

“Amazing,” he muttered.

“Isn’t it?” said Ssylo, pride welling up in his chest as he stared at the power he held in his hands, “So? Swear it?”

“I… I swear, absolutely,” said Balthezar, smiling, despite the situation, “We’ll find a solution. I promise. Did you learn magic by yourself or did you have someone to teach you?”

“H-huh?”

At this point, Balthezar couldn’t help himself, he crawled forward, pulling away from Caliban and drawing his face closer to the power flowing through Ssylo’s fingers. He studied it seriously.

“You’re powerful, I can tell,” said Balthezar, raising a finger to tap the side of his snout, “I’ve always been fascinated by sources of the weave, you know? One can learn to tap into it, but it’s so difficult, and requires a mind keener than mine. Other people have a certain inherent advantage. And then there are shortcuts, of course…”

“We aren’t talking about magic!” Ssylo said, extinguishing the flowing ice in his hands and stepping away, “Stop that.”

“I-I’m sorry. I got excited. I do so love magic, you know? I made a study of it before I came to Waterdeep.”

It was now Ssylo’s turn to be uncomfortable as he stared at this odd dragonborn who seemed to stare at his hands so covetously. He realized just how sincere this person was in that moment and wondered why he had ever doubted him. He huffed, and shook his head, before he turned away from the dragonborn to escape from the glare of his light spell and called out.

“Puck! Hey, Puck!”

After a moment, there was a faint susurrus. The crowd in the darkness parted and another kobold emerged. He was a rusty, ruddy color, with blue stripes across his snout, arms, and legs. Like the leader of the Kobolds, he was well dressed, wearing a vest, knickers, and a soft cap. Only the short bow slung over his shoulder gave him away as any threat.

There was a moment as he emerged, eyes wide, as he stared at Ssylo, and then to the two guests. All at once, he smiled at the guests and waved. Ssylo then gave the kobold a smack upside the head, and his cap fell off.

“Stop that!” said Ssylo, “Puck, I want you to go with these big people.”

“Oh?” said the kobold, Puck, as he bent over to pick up his soft cap and brushed it off, “Okay.”

“Now, this will be a dangerous mission. You’re going to be among the enemy. Do you think you can do this?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I won’t fault you if you’re too afraid to…”

“Nah. I’m fine,” Puck answered, placing the cap back on his head, “They seem nice.”

Ssylo blinked his eyes, staring at Puck. He then cleared his throat.

“Well, okay then,” he said, “Balthezar, Lizard, this is Puck, my brother. You’re his prisoner until he says so. He’ll let you go whenever you come up with this solution you keep going on about, you got that?”

“I’m their prisoner?” asked Puck, scratching his head.

“No! They’re your prisoner!” Ssylo said, smacking his brother upside the head once again. It was clear the tiny sorcerer was too weak to hurt Puck, who, now that Balthezar was looking at him, seemed a lot more robust than the average Kobold. There was always a faint smile on his snout, especially when he looked at Balthezar and Caliban. He waved a small hand at them again and, Balthezar, not knowing how to react to that, simply waved back.

“That it!” Ssylo cried, “Out of our warren! Puck, take them away.”

“Alright,” said Puck as he approached the two of them. Wordlessly he walked right past Balthezar and inspected Caliban with an appraising eye. He soon nodded his head, before he raised his arms. Caliban simply stared.

“Well?” said Puck, “Up!”

“What?” Caliban asked, flatly.

“Up!” insisted Puck, “Up! Pick me up!”

Caliban stared at the little creature, and then over at Balthezar, who seemed just as confused as the lizardfolk was. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “I suppose pick him up. We are his prisoners.”

Caliban paused, before he reached forward and grabbed the creature under the shoulders and stood up. His thumbs and fingers completely encircled the kobold’s tiny chest, but he seemed to enjoy the ride. Once Caliban was standing, the Kobold wiggled out of his grip and, with perfect balance, scrambled over the lizard’s arm and perched on the lizardfolk’s thick shoulder. Once he was there, Caliban growled a little, unsure of what to think of this, but once the kobold hugged himself to the side of his head, he melted within. Balthezar was glad to see Caliban grow calm, and stood himself, turning back to Ssylo.

“Thank you, Mr. Ssylo,” he said, “We will be in touch when we have results.”

“You better!” Ssylo called up to the tall dragonborn, “Now get out!”

With one last bow, Balthezar picked up his mace and stowed it back on his belt, before he gestured for Caliban to follow him out, Puck in tow, kicking his little legs as he waved goodbye to his denmates.

\--

Out in the sun once again, Balthezar wasn’t sure what he had just agreed to. However, he had made a solemn promise. He couldn’t break that. There had to be a solution. Some way for everyone to be happy. Mr. Forath, Ssylo, Puck, his patron God Deneir, and his own peace of mind. With that in mind, he knew where he had to start. Mr. Forath was sending more and more people after this warren. That had to stop right this instant.

“Back to the Yawning Portal,” said Balthezar, “I think we should have a talk with Mr. Forath.”

“About what?” asked Caliban.

“I… uh… about the right thing to do,” said Balthezar, “Surely if we explain that the Kobolds are being exploited, and can’t even find a place to live, he’ll understand…”

It was then that Puck spoke up, a hand held over his eyes to shade them from the sunlight as his other arm hugged the lizardfolk’s thick neck, “Won’t work. Tried that already.”

“What?”

“Ssylo likes to talk. He went up to Mr. Forath himself once. I was with him. We barely got away with our lives. He’s a jerk, like Ssylo says.”

“Jerk or not, surely…”

“I don’t think you understand how much of a jerk he is,” Puck interrupted, the smile never leaving his face, “If you wanna find a good way to help Ssylo, you gotta find something else to do.”

“But… what else is there?”

“That’s your job,” Puck said, “I’m just here to make sure you don’t screw over my brother. You get me?”

With that, the Kobold winked one of his eyes and pointed a claw towards Balthezar, mouthing “pow.” Balthezar’s eyes widened, and he looked away, realizing that despite this small creature’s seemingly friendly nature, it was abundantly clear on whose side he was on.

He thought, wondering what it was he could do. What resources did he have to help with this mission? He thought this would be simple, but it seemed nothing was truly simple in the city of Splendors. He closed his eyes, hoping he might hear the song, and might glean some meaning from it. He didn’t hear anything but the far-off sound of a carriage traffic, and fishing boats out in the bay. Frustrated, he opened his eyes. Deneir wouldn’t give him any guidance from here on out. It was his responsibility now. All of two days in the city, and he was already in over his head.

Still, there was certainly a way that Deneir could help. He was a cleric. He was unmoored from any particular worship of his patron, but he was still chosen by his patron God. That had to count for something.

“Puck,” asked Balthezar, “Is there a temple to Deneir somewhere?”

“Lots of temples, yeah! Don’t know which ones are which.”

“Point me in a direction then,” said Balthezar, taking Caliban by the hand. He felt Caliban’s grip squeeze, and he took some limited comfort from that, “And let’s go.”

\--

It was early evening before they finally found what they were looking for. The Library of Deneir, a grand repository of literature and knowledge. Upon discovering it existed, Balthezar’s face lit up and he rushed inside, leaving Caliban and Puck outside to wait for him. The judgmental looks of the priests at the entrance did not seem to appreciate the presence of the two monstrous creatures, and so they set themselves down on the stairs, waiting for the cleric to return with whatever help he could get from his church.

Puck and Caliban sat in silence for some time, Puck happy that the sun had begun to set, so he no longer had to shade himself from the uncomfortable light. Caliban stared with one eye towards the entrance of the library, and with the other his awareness darted around, looking out always for trouble. Puck, meanwhile, was sitting next to him on the step, and stared up at him the whole time.

“So,” Puck began, making conversation in Draconic, “You and the dragonborn, huh?”

“What about us?” Caliban asked, his wandering eye focusing on Puck.

“That’s the question, huh?” Puck said, the smile on his face widening, “How long have you known him?”

“Two days.”

“That long, huh?” Puck said, “And you seem close. Big people don’t tend to be that friendly after only two days.”

Caliban was quiet, and simply continued to look around. Puck would not be deterred, however, and he jabbed an elbow into the Lizardfolk’s thigh, his face seeming worried.

“So. You and him wouldn’t happen to be… y’know?”

Both of Caliban’s eyes fell upon the Kobold, “What?”

“You’re always touching each other. He stares at you sometimes. You’re always staring at him. It’s not hard to see what’s going on.”

“You… you are not so smart.”

“I didn’t get this far being dumb,” said Puck, his worry transforming into a faint smile, “If you and he ain’t like that, I won’t say nothing. I just wanna know what I’m jumping into the middle of. Ssylo’s got our people in mind, but he’s not really the best at picking up on people, y’know?”

“Hmmmm.”

“And if you two are that close, then you’ll know…” Puck continued, “Balthezar. He on the level?”

Caliban’s stare drilled hard into the kobold. His face showed no emotion. He slowly looked away, both eyes unfocused as he thought hard about his answer.

“Cloudgazer is good,” he said, finally, clutching his hands together, as if he was wishing to hold something else in them, “I follow Cloudgazer because he helps people. He helped me. He is helping you. I don’t like you doubting him.”

“Some of us don’t live in la la land. We gotta live in the real world, here, y’know? This city will eat you alive if you’re not careful.”

“I know,” said Caliban, “That is what happened to me. And then Cloudgazer… Cloudgazer came.”

“He saved you?”

“I did not understand why, until I learned that he is just that way. He helps. No matter what. He helps. There is nothing more to him than that.”

“That why you’re devoted to him?”

“Devoted…?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was love,” said Puck, “But I know better. I know your kind don’t feel things like the softskins. I spent a lot of time out there in the world. Hated every minute of it, but you pick up some tidbits about the monsters and stuff living out there, including you and your people. We don’t quite feel in the same way they do either, you know? We’re not complicated. The softskins are complicated, and even though he looks like a scaleback, the cleric is closer to them than he is to us. You sure you want to get involved in that?”

Caliban was thoughtful at this. It was true. It was less feeling and more thought. He knew in his mind that Balthezar Cloudgazer was someone unique and special. He knew for a fact that he wanted to stay by the dragonborn’s side, to protect him. He felt nothing for him, but he knew that if he could, he would. He also knew for a fact that a pair like them would face difficulties. Balthezar was vibrant, emotional, and complicated, but at the same time, he respected the lizardfolk immediately. He wondered if Balthezar would grow bored of him if he could not properly love him. Caliban wondered if, without love, he would eventually find something else and leave. That would be the smart thing to do, but it would be a betrayal of Balthezar, and he knew that was the last thing he ever wanted to do. Balthezar was too good to betray in that way.

“You got real quiet,” said Puck, “Hope I didn’t blow your mind.”

“I want Cloudgazer,” said Caliban, quietly, “I do not know how to know if I love him, but I want him.”

Puck shrugged, “Does he know about your past?”

Caliban fell quiet at this, narrowing his eyes.

“What do you know?”

“Enough. I know Caliban ain’t your name. Nobody polite gave you that little nickname, and the holy man doesn’t know how mean it really is. I also know lizardfolk tribes only strip someone of their names when they really screwed something up.”

“How do you know any of this?”

“I had to survive attacks from hungry animals, lizardfolk included,” said Puck, “The best way to fight back is to learn as much as you can. No hard feelings of course. I’d rather have more friends than more enemies. That’s one difference between me and my brother. He’s too focused on kobolds. He doesn’t realize us monsters gotta stick together if we wanna survive in a place like Waterdeep.”

Caliban sat in silence for another moment, before he folded his tail around himself and held it in his hands. It was comforting, the kind of thing he would have done as a child, and he wished it was warm, like Cloudgazer.

Soon, however, the two of them heard voices at the top of the steps leading up to the library. Balthezar was laughing with two priests as he exited the temple, a few scroll cases in tow.

“Thank you so much, elder. I’m happy I came,” said Balthezar.

“Please return again, brother Balthezar,” a man with a shaved head said, bowing deeply, “To meet a chosen of Deneir is a grand honor indeed.”

“Thank you, Brother Hallon. Thank you both. Give everyone my regards and thank you for the scrolls.”

With that, the two priests bowed once again and waved as Balthezar climbed down the stairs. He was smiling, glowing in the same way he seemed to when Ssylo had shown him his magic. Caliban stood at once and reached forward, immediately taking the dragonborn’s hand possessively, and the kobold couldn’t help but smirk at the sight.

“So?” asked Puck, “Any ideas?”

“I’ve not a clue what I’m going to do with it,” said Balthezar, holding up a bundle of scroll-cases lashed together with twine, “but I know I’ve got some very interesting papers related to Mr. Forath. I’ll study them tonight. I’m confident I’ll find something to help us. A deed, or zoning law, or even possibly something I could use against him in the Kobold’s favor.”

“Sounds great!” said Puck, “So, where are you guys staying?”

“We’ve got a room in the Trades Ward,” said Balthezar, “I think we’ve had enough of a day for now. You’re invited to stay with us, of course, Mr. Puck.”

“Just Puck, please,” he said, “I don’t take up much room. I hope the landlord doesn’t mind a kobold.”

“W-well… she minded Caliban at first, but… well, I’m paying your way.”

At this Puck’s smile seemed to fall for the first time since Balthezar had known him. He adjusted the cap on his head and nodded his head, as if deciding something.

“I probably won’t sleep much at night anyway,” he said, “If you ever need some help with funds just say the word. I know for a fact Forath won’t pay you after this.”

“O-oh,” Balthezar said, freezing up all of a sudden and tightening his grip on Caliban’s hand, “Gods, money. It’s always about money here, isn’t it?”

“Gold speaks all tongues,” recited Caliban.

“So I hear,” said Balthezar, the frustration clear on his face. Even so, it resolved into a determined scowl as he continued to walk, “I can make it work, but I’ll accept all the help you can give, Puck.”

“You can count on me!”

\--

The late evening went by quickly as Balthezar explained to Gerda about his new guest, and despite her look of horror, she allowed the kobold to head upstairs to stay in the dragonborn’s room. Another fifteen silver changed hands from the dragonborn to the landlady for meat, drink, and the room. Caliban ate happily, oblivious, but Balthezar’s worried look towards his coinpurse was not lost upon little Puck as they ate.

Eventually, it was fully night, and while Balthezar and Caliban were beginning to slow down, if anything Puck seemed to perk up. With food in his belly and night in the window, he smiled wide and stood up on top of his seat. His head barely peeked above the table when he sat, and standing, the tabletop came up to his armpits.

“Well, I’m off!” he said, “You folks have fun.”

“You’re off? Where?” asked Balthezar.

Puck shrugged his shoulders before he jumped down off his chair and adjusted the soft cap on his head, “I’m a little tougher than the average person, y’know. There’s some jobs you can only take at night.”

“Do… do you want us to come with, or…?”

“Nope! You two ain’t used to staying up all hours yet,” he said, before he looked up into Caliban’s face and gave him the biggest smile yet, the sides of his mouth curling up slyly, “And besides, Balthezar’s got his research, and you two should talk.”

“T-talk?” Balthezar asked, trying to decipher this meaningful look which passed between the lizardfolk and kobold.

“Anyway, good night!” he cried, rushing away, leaving the other two behind. Balthezar’s curiosity was burning, but a moment later, he realized he still had all those papers to go through, and his reserves of magic were still spent. He couldn’t rush out into danger and study in one night.

“I think he’s right, Caliban,” said Balthezar, “Perhaps it’s time to go to bed.”

With that, the dragonborn stood from his seat and offered a hand for Caliban to take, just as before. However, there was a strange hesitation to the lizardfolk’s manner as he took the dragonborn’s hand in his own. His eyes were too focused, both upon Balthezar’s face, and as he stood, he squeezed the dragonborn’s hand so hard it was on the edge of pain. Balthezar blinked at the strange manner, but simply decided that after today’s excitement, Caliban was ready for bed.

The two of them climbed the stair, the dragonborn waving goodnight to Gerda, and came soon to their room. A moment fiddling with the keys later and the both of them were safe and sound inside, the scroll cases laid out on the table where Balthezar had left them when he first arrived here. The dragonborn gave a deep breath, touched his holy symbol, and walked towards the table.

“You sleep, Caliban. I’ll stay up a few more hours,” said Balthezar, pulling the cap from one of the cases, and carefully extracting a scroll from within. He looked it over with a smile and nodded his head. “I’ve got to solve this tomorrow.”

“Do not stay up too late, Cloudgazer,” said Caliban, his hand moving from his hand to his shoulder.

“I won’t, my friend. I know my limits,” he answered, touching the hand on his shoulder.

Then, the lizardfolk pulled away and walked over to the bed. He unbelted his loincloth and it fell to the floor, and he fell, nude, into bed. Balthezar watched the muscled creature curl up on top of the covers, his throat growing somewhat dry, before he shook his head and turned back to his study.

The documents the temple had provided him weren’t too complicated. Most were blueprints of buildings in town, including the general layouts of warehouses in the dock ward. He thought he might find something on the plans themselves, but found the more he studied, the less he found. They really were just big empty buildings to be filled with stuff. Beyond that, he had also pulled some documentation about the ownership of the warehouse at pier four. As expected, it was in the name of Forath Vin’nal, sun elf. Not nobility, but clearly with some money to his name. A merchant of shoes, oddly enough.

Something nagged at the back of his mind as he read copies and copies of nearly identical shipping manifests and documents of ownership. When he was training in Candlekeep to be a scribe, he learned to spot patterns in documents like this, and to group them together with like information. He moved on to another scroll tube, and found within general information about Forath Vin’nal, and that’s where his suspicions began to grow.

Nothing in any of these documents went back further than two years. Not his ownership of the warehouse, not his ownership of his business, nothing. Forath had said he had lived in Waterdeep for over a hundred years, so surely, he would have had his business longer than that. A moment later he began to piece together the reason: He found no record of anyone named Forath Vin’nal from before two years before.

“Odd,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb Caliban’s sleep, “It couldn’t be…”

Unfortunately, there was not much else there. Other than that little tidbit of information, Balthezar had nothing else. Still, that gave him enough to go on. If Forath was not on the level, then perhaps they should go speak with him after all.

He stood, feeling in his bones the late hour, but still strangely spry. It had been some time since he sat and spent a long night in study, and he could hear the music of the universe in his ear fading away. He smiled, and intoned a quick thank you to his God, before packing the scrolls back in their cases, intending to return them back to the temple in the morning. It was a miracle they let him take them home, and he was sure if he had not been able to show them proof of his divine favor with Deneir, they would not have allowed it.

Finished with that, he untied his robe and once again stripped down to his undergarments. He turned around, hoping that Caliban had left enough room on the bed for him. However, he stopped when he saw the lizardfolk sitting up, still awake, staring straight at the dragonborn.

“Oh!” cried Balthezar, immediately self-conscious about his underwear, “Caliban, you’re still awake. You frightened me.”

“Sorry. Did not sleep. Watched you work.”

“I’ve been working for hours. You just… watched me, the whole time?”

He nodded. Balthezar felt a pang of guilt well up. He hadn’t noticed! If he had, he would have insisted the lizardfolk rest.

“Caliban, please. You took a few rather large hits. My magic healed the worst of it, but you still need to recuperate.”

“Not without Cloudgazer.”

Balthezar couldn’t help blushing at this. He was frozen to the spot, until the reptile crawled forward and reached up with a hand, offering to help him into bed. Balthezar slowly stepped forward, letting the creature take his hand and he walked around to his side, before climbing in, one knee at a time.

“You really have impressed upon me, haven’t you?” said Balthezar, with a smile, “You know I intended for you to stand on your own two feet, but I suppose I messed all that up.”

“Messed… up?” asked Caliban, still holding the dragonborn’s hand as the two of them sat up in bed.

“I wanted to… to get you a job. Get you something with a steady income. Work, you know? Rather than lash yourself to me. There’s a parable about giving a man a boar versus teaching him to hunt himself. I wanted you to… learn to hunt, so to speak.”

“I know how to hunt.”

“Prey, yes,” he said, squeezing the hand gripping his own, “Work? No. And after today, I’m not sure a simple job would have helped. The kobolds work all the time, and they’re still living on the edges of society. It would have been the same for you. I was arrogant to believe I could change that alone.”

“You are not arrogant.”

“But I was,” he said, “I thought I could change everything! I could help everyone! I see now I was wrong.”

With that, Caliban leaned forward, reaching up with his other hand to touch Balthezar gently under his chin, cupping his face. Balthzar’s eyes widened at the gesture as Caliban moved his chin so that their eyes met. The dragonborn felt fireworks go off in his stomach at this tender gesture, and the feeling was one he still did not quite understand.

“Caliban?”

“You are not wrong,” Caliban said, his voice even, calm, and insistent, “You helped me.”

“For a day, at the most.”

“For… two days,” Caliban corrected him.

“And when I’m gone, what will you do? Go back to the street? Go back to eating garbage?”

“Why do you have to go?”

“If I intend to help everyone, I… I can’t get hung up on one person, can I?”

“You can’t help everyone, you just said.”

“I… you know what I mean.”

“Yes. I know Cloudgazer means what he says. You can’t help everyone, so you must help who you can. The kobolds need you. I need you.”

“Y-you need me?”

“You made me need you,” said Caliban, moving his body closer, so that his muscled body loomed over the thin dragonborn. His fingers caressed the dragonborn’s chin, and all at once Balthezar’s throat went dry and his cheeks erupted in a dark blush.

“Caliban,” was all he could say, his breathing had grown hard. He wasn’t sure what Caliban was even doing, but whatever it was, he didn’t want it to stop. One hand was still holding Caliban’s, and his other rose at his whim, reaching out to touch the lizard. It settled on his chest, around where the gash in the skin had healed completely, without even showing, and he felt the firm muscles tensing under his rough, scaly hide.

Caliban took that as an invitation, and leaned forward, burying his snout in Balthezar’s neck and taking in his scent deeply. Balthezar gasped, his arm curling around the reptile to clutch across his back, and as he felt the lizardfolk’s tongue against his neck, the arm tightened, pulling them closer together.

“What…?” Balthezar’s rational mind attempted to force him to say, “What are you doing?”

“I want Cloudgazer,” Caliban whispered into Balthezar’s ear, “And Cloudgazer wants me.”

“I… I don’t even… I’ve never…”

“I can teach you.”

A long, wet lick traveled from the base of Balthezar’s neck to the corner of his mouth. He opened his own mouth in kind, his own draconic tongue snaking out by instinct. No more words were said. It didn’t seem necessary. The two sudden lovers embraced, all troubles forgotten until the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their friendship blossoms into more, Balthezar and Caliban have a day on the town, preparing to solve the mystery of their strange elven employer. Things, predictably, don't go well.

Sweet, warm oblivion enveloped Balthezar. He felt as if he was floating in warmth and safety, carried by the strains of the song of the universe. No thoughts invaded his dreamlike safety. He awoke smiling, and nearly decided to forget the day and return to bed. There were no schedules here in Waterdeep. No morning scribing. No afternoon lessons. No structured mealtimes. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were meaningless here. It was just him, the bed, and Caliban.

He eased himself into the embrace of the lizardfolk, pleased to feel the reptile’s warm scales still brushing against his naked skin. His deep, gentle breathing inflated and deflated his chest slowly, rocking Balthezar gently up and down. Eventually, the music in his soul began to fade with the last memories of whatever wonderful dream he had been having, leaving only the impression of wonder and happiness behind. The lizard’s body was warm, matching his own body’s temperature, and he realized that the lizard’s cold blood had absorbed his body heat all night. He nestled into the embrace he still felt encircling him, and he could feel Caliban’s own slight movements as he awoke, adjusting himself and caressing his lover’s jewel-green back.

“Cloudgazer…” Caliban whispered. Balthezar finally opened his eyes, and saw the sunlight coming in through the window.

“G’morning,” muttered Balthezar, his own hands kneading the lizard’s firm, pleasant flesh, “Go back to sleep.”

Caliban did not argue. He was clearly comfortable, his only answer a deep bass rumble that Balthezar did not hear but felt through his lover’s chest. Both of them closed their eyes, and Balthezar listened once again for the song that harmonizes with all things, casting his awareness out as if in deep, pleasant meditation.

All of a sudden, there was a loud crash, and both bodies were upright in an instant. Balthezar felt the embrace become crushing and protective as Caliban shielded his lover with his massive arms, and Balthezar’s gaze turned to see where the noise had come from.

The door had been slammed shut. As they tried to find who had done it, they heard footsteps within the room. Balthezar was confused for a moment, thinking perhaps they were being attacked by someone invisible, and he wished he had worn his holy symbol to bed. Caliban growled, his eyes darting about in two different patterns around the room, trying to find their assailant.

“Good morning!” they hear a moment later, a high-pitched, friendly voice. Both lovers looked over to the edge of the bed and saw Puck’s jolly face just barely peeking over the edge. His clothes were disheveled, but he seemed unharmed.

“Puck!” Balthezar said. He pushed gently against Caliban’s chest, trying to get him to calm himself, and continued, “You scared us.”

“Sorry!” he said, walking away from the bed. Balthezar could see him pull a chair out from under the table and climb up onto it, before he reached into the washbasin and began to wash his face. He then dipped his entire snout into the water and began to lap it up like a dog. Balthezar made a mental note to change the water before washing up.

By this time, Caliban was clearly too worked up to go back to sleep, and Balthezar could feel his own heart only just beginning to slow. There would be no more sleep today.

“I suppose it’s time to get up anyhow,” said Balthezar, “Er… I would prefer if you knocked next time. Caliban and I were… uh…”

“Hanky panky, got it,” Puck said, without a care in the world.

“Er… I…” stammered Balthezar, before he snatched one of the blankets and wrapped up his waist for the sake of modesty. He then stood up. However, Caliban reached for his arm and stopped him from climbing out quite yet. “Caliban?”

He understood a moment later when the lizardfolk pulled the dragonborn in and Balthezar felt him lick up the entire side of his face affectionately. The dragonborn couldn’t help but smile, and, not quite understanding it, he stuck out his own tongue and gave the lizardfolk a small, tentative lick on the tip of his snout. His skin held an odd taste, but the texture was divine.

The sound of a throat clearing alerted Balthezar to the presence of the kobold once again, who was sitting down in the chair which was comically too large for him. He was watching them impatiently.

“So?” he said, “I’m bushed. If you’re gonna screw again go do it somewhere else.”

“O-oh!” Balthezar said, pulling away from Caliban and wrapping the sheet tightly around himself. If he didn’t find something to say to distract from his nakedness as he searched for his clothes, he was sure he was going to die of the red-hot blush on his cheek. “Er… where did you go last night, Puck?”

“Oh yeah!” he said happily, before reaching down for the pack at his side. As he dug around, Balthezar found his discarded loincloth and struggled to tie it on while covering himself with the sheet, before he whipped his undershirt over his head and dropped the sheet only when he had his robes within reach. Puck approached him as he was pushing an arm through his sleeve, offering up a small bag. “Here.”

“Huh?”

“For you,” he said, “Take it!”

Balthezar hesitated, before he finished pulling on his robe and took the little bag. He heard the jingle of coin and his eyes went wide. Quickly, he opened it and found it was a little sack of gold.

“Puck, what…?”

“Like I said, there’s jobs you can only do at night,” said Puck pushing the chair over to the window, before climbing up and reaching out to close the shutters, “Animals around here got wise to people huntin’ em during the day, so they started coming out at night. Luckily, I hunt better after dark. Got some good prices for some bucks I shot clean.”

“You got ten gold from hunting?”

“Night hunting! between leather for the tanner, meat for the butcher, save the head for the taxidermist, the guts can get turned to bowstrings, the bones go to soup… You can get a good half a dragon for a doe, and up to two whole dragons for a good buck. I got a good nose for it. They get bolder at night, since humans can’t see in the dark. Then I come in.”

Balthezar looked down at the ten gold coins in the bag, before he looked up at the tiny kobold climbing awkwardly down from the chair, before he laid his pack out on the floor and sat upon it.

“Five bucks? You hunted five whole bucks in one night.”

“Nah, more than that,” he said, as if it was nothing, “That’s just your share.”

The pieces were falling together in his mind as Balthezar stared at the tiny form of his new friend. A realization lit up his mind.

“A ranger,” he said, “You’re a ranger, aren’t you?”

“Sometimes,” said the kobold, “But don’t ask me to go out there for more than a day at a time. I got a taste for the finer things now. I’m a city boy!”

“B-but I can’t accept this. This is your money. You earned it. I haven’t…”

“You’re broke, ain’cha?”

“I… I have six, and some silver left. I’ll be…”

The kobold snorted, before he laid back on his backpack, looking as if he might simply lie back and go to sleep right there on the floor.

“Just take it,” he said, “You need it more than I do.”

“If you can make ten gold a night just like that, why are you squatting? Can’t you…?”

“Nobody rents to Kobolds, Cloudgazer,” said Puck, “You can have all the money in the world but if you ain’t got nothing to spend it on, why keep it? I got enough for food, weapons, armor, and that’s all I need. The rest usually goes to the warren anyway.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

“That’s how we do,” Puck said, stretching his arms and legs, “We’re tiny. We live and die together. No teamwork, and the warren falls apart. That means everyone contributes what they can. Including money. Far as I’m concerned, you and the lizard are pack now. You live and die together with us. It’s my job to make sure you stay fed.”

Balthezar looked down at the money in his hands, still feeling awkward about taking it. Even so, he understood the reason. Smiling, he poured the money into his own coin purse, happy to be secure for a while longer at least.

“If you need us, I think I’m going to return these scrolls to the temple, and then I have to check something at… where would I go to inquire about, er, information?”

“Lots of places. What kind of information?”

“What was Mr. Forath doing two years ago or so?” asked Balthezar, gathering up the scroll tubes carefully and tying them together again, “He says he’s lived here for a hundred years, but all of the records I’ve found indicate he’s only been in business for two. I’m simply curious.”

“That kind of curiosity might get you killed if you ask the wrong people.”

“Killed?” asked Caliban, suddenly perking up in the middle of belting his loincloth back on.

“It won’t come to that,” insisted Balthezar, hoisting the scroll cases up under his arm, “Where can I go?”

“Any bar will do, but considering how much money he’s got, I’d probably try a place in the castle ward or even the North Wards. You might be able to get in up there if you play up the holy man schtick. You might also wanna get a proper bath and pass him off as a servant of yours or something.”

“North Ward… thank you Puck.”

“No problem,” he muttered, rolling over on his pack, “Now go away, I wanna sleep.”

Balthezar smiled and held out a hand for Caliban to take. Pocketing the key to the room, he took all he needed and opened the door. However, in the doorframe, he paused, turning back to look at the kobold.

“You know, you can sleep in the bed. I don’t mind.”

“Nah. I know where it’s been,” he said, “Good morning.”

Balthezar’s bright blush returned. He stammered but couldn’t manage to say anything at all. Instead, he retreated, pulling Caliban from the room. Unbeknownst to either of them, as Puck drifted off to sleep in the corner, he held a sly smirk on his face.

\--

A quick trip to the temple of Deneir to return the scrolls later, Balthezar and Caliban were walking down the street along the Castle Ward, heading north. The dragonborn was thinking hard about what his next step should be. He knew Mr. Forath was likely well connected and knew it would be dangerous to try to gather information on him without a plan. Even so, if the North Ward was as fancy as Puck seemed to be implying, they needed an edge, even if that edge was simply a bath and a change of clothes.

“Caliban,” he said, “I’m going to take you to a bath house. I think we’ve got enough for two. And then, I would like us to pick out some clothes.”

“Clothes…” said Caliban, squinting his eyes.

“What? You don’t like clothes?”

“Back home, wearing too much is a burden.”

“Well you aren’t in the swamp anymore. As much as I… appreciate your usual look, these are ladies and gentlemen of class. A smart suit might give us the edge we need.”

“I don’t see why I am coming. I do not do well with softskins.”

“You’re coming because…” Balthezar began. He then hesitated. In truth, it simply hadn’t occurred to him to leave Caliban behind, especially after last night. They were close now, closer than ever, and even if they had work to do, he wanted to bask in the feeling of spending time with the lizardfolk. He sighed, “I simply feel better when you’re with me. That’s all.”

“I’ll do whatever you say, Cloudgazer,” Caliban said, reaching down and taking the dragonborn’s hand in his own, squeezing it reassuringly.

Eventually, Balthezar found the place he was thinking of. A bath house, the Steam Dragon. With a smile, Balthezar rushed to step inside, with Caliban in tow, and together, the two of them took in the grand lobby of the spa.

The place was tasteful, and well-run, with walls and floors of polished wood, and art hung up all around depicting nautical themes. Paintings of boats, waves, lighthouses, and encounters with water nymphs and sirens were hung up, and Balthezar was pleased by the sights. At one end was a tall, double-door, through which Caliban could smell soap and steam, and at the other end a red-headed woman with ruddy skin and straight teeth sat. She smiled at the two of them.

“Welcome,” she said with practiced grace. She stood, and they saw she was wearing a clean white dress, “How may I help you gentlemen?”

“We would like an hour in the baths, please,” said Balthezar.

“Private baths for each of you, or the public area?”

Balthezar hesitated, before glancing behind her towards the board where the prices were posted. He grimaced when he saw how much a private bath was, and so he said, quickly, “Public area!”

“Of course,” she said, “That will be two gold.”

The dragonborn smiled, and, with silent thanks to Puck, he paid their way. The woman clapped her hands, and the doors behind them were opened by two more smiling people, a man and a woman, who were both wearing white. Caliban was uneasy at the sight of these smiling humans, but Balthezar led him through the doors anyway.

“Do you need a… laundry service?” asked the man, with a glance towards Caliban’s stinking bear skin.

“Er… yes! Thank you,” said Balthezar, “Where do we, uh…?”

“Through there,” said the woman, indicating a side area. As they walked on, the humidity began to rise, and Caliban visibly relaxed, enjoying the feeling. They were led into a small room where there were shelves set into the walls, some of which were filled with clothing.

The woman bowed, and left to give the men privacy, and the man smiled and stood by, in case he was needed. He had a well-groomed moustache and the sides of his head were shaved into a fade, and as he smiled warmly, the tips of his moustache curled up.

“Disrobe, please, and leave your clothing on the benches. I’ll collect them,” he said, “The men’s bath is to your left. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask.”

“Thank you,” said Balthezar, as he began to undo his robes. Caliban noticed this, and unbelted his loincloth, letting it fall to the floor with a heavy noise. Soon, Caliban was nude, and waited for Balthezar to join him. The dragonborn felt his bashfulness resurface as he stripped down to his underwear, but at this point, Caliban had seen everything, and the human had surely seen more than enough nudity to last a lifetime. He placed his undergarments on the bench, before he took two towels off of a shelf on the wall and handed one to Caliban.

The lizardfolk took the dragonborn’s hand. Balthezar smiled, realizing how much they had gone around holding hands even before last night. Taking the lead, the dragonborn walked into the baths and turned to the left.

Immediately, the steam from the warm bathwater hit them both, causing Caliban to rumble, and Balthezar to sigh. The two of them saw there was a small area to one side with porcelain tile floors where they could wash themselves before bathing, and within the pool of steaming water were several people already sitting and relaxing within. There were three grown men, a dwarf, and two humans, and with one of the humans was a small child who was splashing about in the water as his father lazily reprimanded him. A few eyes lazily turned to regard the pair, and gave the lizardfolk an odd look, but no one particularly seemed to care.

“Come along Caliban,” said Balthezar, not wanting to violate the quiet atmosphere of the bath by speaking too loudly, “Let’s get you washed up.”

“We washed yesterday.”

“Yes, but this will be nicer,” Balthezar said, “There was a bath in Candlekeep. It wasn’t nearly as nice as this.”

As the dragonborn led his friend over to the washing area, he found a spare bucket, as well as a lever to draw up water from whatever spring heated the water here. There were even bars of soap here. It smelled of nothing much, but it was clean, and would allow them to get off the last of the grime their hasty toweling off the day before had missed.

Balthezar took the lead, guiding Caliban to a bench and handing him a bar of soap, before he began to draw water. It came out of the spout so hot Balthezar wasn’t sure it was safe to touch, and the steam caused him to smile.

The two of them, starting with Caliban and moving on to Balthezar, then proceeded to wash one another. Balthezar made sure this time to give his friend a more thorough scrub and rinse, and even more grime came up from between the lizardfolk’s rough scales, and with thoughts of last night threatening to invade his mind at any moment, Balthezar even got up the courage to wash and scrub Caliban’s front. Afterwards, the reptile returned the favor, scrubbing Balthezar down hard from head to toe, pausing every now and again only to touch the dragonborn’s body with a few surreptitious caresses.

Soon, the two of them rinsed off together with more hot water, before they were ready to climb into the bath. They entered hand-in-hand. It was a shallow pool, coming up to their shoulders when they sat upon the bench below. By that time, the human with his child had left, and the dwarf had stood to climb out of the pool, wandering back to the washing area to dry out his bushy beard.

Balthezar sat down, taking in the warmth of the pool. Caliban, however, immediately took to the water, dunking his entire body underneath. It was about twenty feet long from end to end, and ten feet wide. For the sake of decoration in one corner a large stone was set into the side of the pool. Quickly, the lizardman swam the length of it and back, his muscled body made for the water. The remaining human gave the dragonborn a dirty look, but he simply closed his eyes and crossed his arms, and soon, Caliban calmed down, simply floating at the surface of the pool like a crocodile, his eyes sitting open just above the level of the water.

The green dragonborn smiled, and shrugged his shoulders, reaching out to touch his friend on the back. He looked almost like a log floating in a pond, and Balthezar was fascinated at once.

“Perhaps you had better sit,” whispered Balthezar, “You might scare anyone else who comes in.”

Caliban’s eyes darted around, one focusing on Balthezar while the other one focused on the man on the other side of the pool. Following Balthezar’s advice, Caliban reached down with his legs to touch the surface of the pool, straightening himself out before taking a seat next to his friend. He still slouched low, trying to get as much of his body under the water as possible, but he took up a lot less of the pool this way.

“Like it?” asked Balthezar.

All Caliban could do was nod. It was clear the warmth agreed with him. Balthezar thought about where a lizardfolk would make their home and realized that the swampy regions to the south where one might encounter one were far warmer and more humid than Waterdeep.

“Feels nice,” he said, agreeing with Caliban’s nod.

“Feels like home…”

“Home?”

Balthezar turned to stare at the lizardfolk. His face was as unreadable as ever, but something about his posture under the water made it clear that he was thinking of old days. His eyes weren’t darting around, they were unfocused and staring down into the water, and his arms were clutched together. Balthezar slowly reached over and took one of the reptile’s hands in his own.

“Tell me about home?” asked Balthezar.

Caliban paused, his eyes both focusing on the dragonborn, before he blinked and looked away, across the room, staring out at the wall. Balthezar could feel his hand shift in his grip.

“Warm,” said Caliban, speaking in draconic, “Others of my kind there. I lived there since my hatching.”

“I’ve never been,” said Balthezar, before he laughed, “I suppose that’s obvious at this point. I’ve never been anywhere.”

“I have been other places. Nowhere is like the swamp. It is wet and hot there year-round, never snow, and when it rains, it never freezes. I lived there with…”

Caliban paused suddenly and fell silent. He allowed his snout to sink under the water, and bubbles began to rise from his nose.

“With…? Who?”

Caliban sat under the water silently for another moment before he rose up out of the water and explained, “Family. I was the smallest of the litter. Runt.”

“You? A runt? No!”

“It was true. I worked to become strong. Otherwise, family would leave me behind. I would die if I could not hunt,” he said, “But…”

Caliban hesitated again. He seemed to show no emotion, but Balthezar knew that didn’t mean he didn’t feel something, even if he didn’t feel it in the same way he did.

“If it’s too painful, you don’t have to say.”

“I killed,” he said, slowly, in draconic, “My father.”

The silence was palpable in that moment, as Balthezar’s face slowly fell from its curious smile to a slack-jawed surprise. He stared into Caliban’s face. Caliban turned away from the dragonborn, pulling his hand away as well.

“It was not right to tell you.”

“Caliban,” said Balthezar, “Why? What happened?”

“It was over hunting rights. He was old. He would not be a hunter for long. We all wished to inherit his hunting ground, to take his bounty. He would name his heir, and the rest would be forced to scatter, to fend for ourselves.”

“And… and you killed him?”

“I tried to gain favor,” he said, “But I was not likable. My nestmates knew how to speak to father. Father favored them. Eventually he named his heir, and I was forced to leave, and try to slice my own hunting ground from what was available.”

Balthezar simply listened, parsing the lizard’s draconic speech as he spoke. His eyes were wide. He wanted to understand. He had to understand.

“To do this… I had to challenge my nestmates. Challenge my father. Fighting is allowed. Killing… is not. But father would not yield. I attempted to take the land he had promised my older sister for myself. I went too far.”

“And he died.”

“I tore out his throat in a rage,” said Caliban, “I was filled with hate for him, for calling me runt, for passing me over in favor of my sister, for siring me and then not caring when I was left with nothing. When I awoke, his blood stained my teeth, and I could taste him in my mouth.”

“Gods…”

Caliban turned to look at Balthezar then, and his posture seemed to weaken when he saw the horror on the dragonborn’s face. He continued, but at a more measured pace, afraid suddenly that he was frightening his friend.

“I was forced to go away. The elders took from me my name and cast me out. I wandered for a while, and then I got on the first carriage that would pick up one of my people, and when the carriage stopped, it was in this city.”

As if testing his friend’s reaction to the story, Caliban fell silent and watched Balthezar. The dragonborn’s mouth had fallen slack, and his eyes were open wide. Caliban looked down into the water when he felt a hand close around his.

“I’m so sorry,” said Balthezar.

“Sorry…? It had nothing to do with you.”

“Then… then I’m happy that… that you came here, instead of being killed,” said Balthezar, trying to find the words to say, “But… Gods! I can’t even imagine how you must feel.”

“Feel?” asked Caliban, before his eyes seemed to look past the dragonborn. He considered it, and concluded, “Then, I felt… rage. Rage is the only thing I can feel, truly.”

“Surely that’s not true,” Balthezar said.

“It is,” said Caliban, “I don’t know how to explain, but I do not feel. Most of my kind don’t know what it means to feel. I only do because of that day, when I knew rage.”

“But… last night…?”

“I said I don’t feel,” Caliban corrected, and Balthezar felt a tender squeeze from Caliban’s grip, “I never said I don’t like you.”

“Caliban?”

“I know I like you. It is different from feeling. I know. Cloudgazer is good,” said Caliban, “And I knew my father was bad. I knew I did not like him. I… I am sorry he is dead. I wish I had liked him.”

“I…” Balthezar said, before he leaned his head to one side and rested it against Caliban’s shoulder, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing,” said Caliban, “That is the past. Now it is now.”

With that, the Lizardfolk leaned towards the dragonborn, his shoulders pressing against his friend’s. He raised his other hand to touch his lovers chest, over his heart, and felt his quickening heartbeat. Balthezar blinked his eyes at the sudden intimate gesture, and, feeling faintly bashful, he let his gaze slide from his lover’s face to see if anyone else was staring. He saw that the last of the other bathers had since left them alone.

“Caliban…” he said, turning back to the lizard, but he interrupted him.

“You feel, don’t you?” asked Caliban, his touch becoming a caress, “Here.”

“I… I suppose I do,” Balthezar said, “Yes.”

“You feel for me.”

“Of course, I do. How could I not?”

“I can’t love you back. Not in the way you want me to.”

There was a sting in Balthezar’s soul as he heard this. He clenched his jaw, his eyes going wide as they stared deep into Caliban’s. Caliban’s face was stoic as ever, even though his hands had slid down to explore the dragonborn’s body under the water.

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Balthezar.

“Because I want you. I have you. I want to keep you,” said Caliban, “But I know you need to be… happy. If I can make you happy, I will, but I can’t do that by loving you.”

“But I…!” he began to answer, realizing what he was about to say. Was that something he could say after only three days of knowing a person? His courage won out against his intellect, and he finished saying it.

“But I love you.”

Caliban froze at this. The two of them sat in the warm water for a few moments, with Caliban’s clawtips tickling over Balthezar’s scales and Balthezar staring up at his reptilian lover. For a moment, Balthezar thought he had said something wrong. He knew three days was simply too soon, but that was simply the only explanation for these sudden feelings, wasn’t it?

“If you can’t feel it, then… then I can feel it enough for the both of us,” he continued on, “It’s all intellect with you. That’s fine by me. You know now that I love you, and I know that… that if you could, you would love me. That’s… that’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Cloudgazer…”

He was silenced when Balthezar reached his snout forward and gave the lizardfolk a long lick up the side of his face as he reached over and clutched the creature’s shoulders. Caliban, pulling towards Balthezar by instinct, leaned harder against his lover. The two of them sat, nearly chest-to-chest in the water, and if Balthezar wasn’t mistaken, he could sense the same hunger from the night before coming over the lizardfolk. He smiled, bashfully, and his mind raced with excuses. They were in public, after all. They couldn’t do that here, could they?

However, before Caliban could draw any closer, the two of them heard a loud noise, like metal on metal. Balthezar’s mind was too addled with feeling to realize what it was, but Caliban was still sharp, and he stood up in the water, turning around to face the noise. It was instantly recognizable as the clank of armor.

A moment later, she appeared. Hotspur, her greataxe dragging on the ground and her heavy armor clanking with each step, entered the room, smiling wide around her tusks. She looked down at the two green, nude creatures in the pool, and hoisted up her axe.

“Well, well. What do we have here?”

“Hotspur?” Balthezar asked, reaching behind himself to snatch up a towel and using it to cover himself under the water, “What are you doing?”

“Sending a message. You messed with a job of ours. You don’t get to do that and keep all your pieces.”

She took another step forward. Balthezar’s mind began to race as he, too stood. He reached up for his holy symbol, intending to cast a spell, but found it wasn’t there. It was in the changing room with the rest of his clothing.

It was then he realized. She had said ‘ours.’ Who else was coming? Who else was already there? Immediately Balthezar began to look around, and saw that in the corner, where they thought a decorative rock had been set, there was now just the bare corner, as if the stone had gotten up and walked away.

“Caliban! Watch out!”

However, the warning came too late. Caliban had his full focus on Hotspur, snarling at the half-orc, and he was taken completely off guard when something huge rose up out of the warm water. Immediately he attempted to turn and attack, but he was too slow. The Tortle hiding under the water struck, burying his rapier into Caliban’s side, and the lizardfolk hissed in pain. Blood flowed down his side as the tortle pulled out his sword, and the drops mingled with the warm bathwater.

At this point, Hotspur struck, running around the pool and coming right for Balthezar. Knowing he was defenseless without any armor or weapons, the dragonborn stepped further into the pool, countering her movement, and she leaped in after him, brandishing her great axe as her heavy body splashed water all around.

“Not so tough without your little trinket, eh?”

“Less talk, more hurt, Hotspur,” said the tortle, with a smirking lilt to his voice.

At this point, Caliban had enough. Upon seeing the half-orc go for Balthezar, he felt the rage bubbling up inside of him, and he roared right into the tortle’s face. He grabbed hold of the tortle by the shell, and his smirk faded when the creature’s massive strength was enough to push him easily aside, knocking him off balance. He tried to strike out for the creature, but the rapier was turned by Caliban’s hard scales, leaving him able to rush down the half orc and snap his jaws at her.

“Not this time!” she cried, smiling, as she turned her body into the attack, and Caliban’s mouth met only metal. She then turned and aimed an attack at Balthezar.

He screamed as he felt the bite of steel across his back as he attempted to run. He stumbled, falling deeper into the water, and his world was alive in pain. He managed to stay awake, however, the wound only cutting skin deep, and a moment later he rose from the reddening water.

The Tortle then stepped in to strike. He turned towards the dragonborn and said, “The lizard’s going to die, holy man, and it’s all your fault.”

It shouldn’t have stung as much as it did. The sudden feeling of doubt in Balthezar’s mind came on so suddenly and painfully that he held his head, tears forming at the edges of his vision. He was right. Caliban would die. It was all his fault. He never should have…

Suddenly, a memory came to him. A book on the methodology of magic, and the myriad forms it can take. Arcane and divine sources were the most common, but there were other ways to wring power from the weave, turning the practices into more art than science. Mere words strong enough to cause pain? There was only one explanation.

“He’s a bard,” he muttered, before he turned and called to Caliban, “Focus on the Tortle! He uses magic!”

“Think you can face me like this, Cleric?” asked the tortle, flourishing his blade a bit, “I probably know your kind of practice about as well as you know mine. I know you can’t do more than a cantrip without that holy symbol of yours.”

Breathing hard, bleeding profusely from the back and with his head pounding from the vicious mockery, Balthezar was filled with doubt for only a moment more before he straightened himself out and made his face as hard as his soft features would allow.

“You don’t know my power, Bard,” said Balthezar, raising his hands, “I’ve made a study of magic my whole life, well before I was touched by divinity. I’ve got some tricks of my own.”

With that, he intoned a well-practiced magic phrase, known well by anyone who made even a casual study of magic. The tortle’s eyes went wide. It was impossible. No god could inspire a spell like that, could they? Was he a wizard? Before he could figure out the truth of it, four flashes of light erupted from the dragonborn’s fingers. From each finger, there came a long spear of force which glowed in the faint candlelight of the bath house and streaked towards the Tortle like lightening. He tried to slash out at the missiles, but they were unerring, and struck him one-by-one, upon the face, chest, and stomach. He cried out, blood flowing from his mouth, and he stepped backwards.

“You’re… you’re a wizard?” demanded the tortle, eyes wide with a sudden, unbidden fear.

“Deneir is a god of knowledge,” said Balthezar, trembling at the exertion of casting the spell, “And of the arcane.”

Tired of all this magic business, Hotspur made a move to move closer to Balthezar in order to attack him again. However, she could not move more than a step before Caliban grabbed her around the neck with his strong arms. She tried to resist, but the raging animal held her fast. She was forced to try slicing into the lizard’s arms, but he barely felt it, so lost as he was in his berserk fury at seeing harm done to Cloudgazer.

“Get him, shell head!” screamed Hotspur, before she screamed as the lizard sank his teeth into her shoulder, catching skin between the plates of her armor.

Pequod knew he couldn’t take another blow like that. He had counted on his armored shell to protect him from any blows that came his way, as he was used to, but against magic like this which simply ignored his defenses, there wasn’t much to be done. Not only that, but as wise as a cleric should be, most of his trickier spells would be ineffective, now that he was aware of them. Even so, Balthezar seemed to be barely on his feet. He wasn’t strong. He hadn’t developed his powers fully yet. He probably had one more casting left in him, and if Pequod was quick, he could rush in and stab the dragonborn before he could manage the words and somatic movement necessary for another volley.

He made up his mind then. The Lizard couldn’t intervene. He was busy with Hotspur. It was up to him to end this.

He rushed forward as well as he could through the water. His bulk didn’t make it easy, but he only had a little way to go through the pool. He raised his rapier, intending to end it in one blow. At the same time, Balthezar drew back, seeming to be preparing himself.

“Caliban!” he cried, green smoke beginning to pour from his mouth and nose, “Run!”

Pequod’s eyes went wide then, as the cleric forewent all magic in favor of something more primal. He breathed in deep, and belched out a thick cloud of hazy smoke, colored an emerald green to match his scales. Immediately, it smashed into Pequod like a heavy wall, immediately irritating his eyes and nose, and causing him to hack and cough. He dropped his rapier into the bathwater, holding his throat as he felt it close up, rejecting this foul, poisonous breath immediately. He struggled to breathe for a moment, still attempting to take a step towards the dragonborn. His eyes stayed locked on Balthezar’s, and a feeling seemed to pass between them. Pequod smiled through his pain, as if to say ‘well done’ to the green dragonborn, before he passed out from the smoke and fell, limp, into the water.

Caliban soon let go of Hotspur, following his friend’s advice. He rushed away from the quickly oncoming smoke and managed to get away before it enveloped him. The half-orc, however, was not so lucky. The dragon’s breath struck her as well, causing her to cough and go teary-eyed, but she stayed on her feet, screaming in frustration.

Balthezar knew he needed to run, and, unsteadily, still tasting the foul taste of his own poisonous breath, he climbed up out of the pool and began to run, followed by Caliban. Hotspur made a move to follow, but then realized her companion had fallen, and she hurried to dig through her pack. The last thing Balthezar saw was the half-orc retrieve a red-colored potion and walk towards the tortle. He would be on his feet soon. They had to get away.

Caliban abandoned his loincloth, opting instead to simply run out of the building. It was up to Balthezar to retrieve their clothes, rushing up to where they had been folded nicely on the bench. He threw on his clean robe, not caring that he hadn’t put on his underwear, or that the blood from his wound was seeping into the back. He then saw Hotspur emerge from the bath, anger upon her face. Thinking quickly, he raised his hands again, casting another round of magic missiles in her direction. The darts of force flowed from his fingers and struck her, blowing her back out of sight, and Balthezar ignored the exhaustion within his soul as he grabbed the rest of his and Caliban’s things in a rough armful and ran.

Catching up with Caliban was easy. The Lizardfolk would not leave the building without him. Once they emerged, the woman at the front desk gasped and called after them, but they did not stop, knowing that the Tortle and half-orc would be tailing them soon enough. Out on the street, they ran together, stopping only when they were several blocks away, having turned down an alley into an uneasy safety.

The two of them breathed hard, Balthezar still clutching his pack and clothes, and Caliban staring down the street where they had come from, looking out for their pursuers. When no tortles or half-orcs appeared, Caliban turned towards Balthezar.

“Cloudgazer is hurt.”

“I… I’m fine. I’ll just…”

Balthezar raised his hand to attempt to heal himself with his magic. However, he was too tired after two spells. Frustration welled up inside of him. Was this really the extent of his power? He went limp, sitting on the floor of the alley, and Caliban crouched to embrace him.

“Cloudgazer…”

“I… I thought we could go shopping, but I don’t think I can manage it,” said Balthezar, grabbing hold of the lizardfolk’s arm and using his bulk to pull himself back to his feet, “I… I’m so weak. I can’t…”

“Cloudgazer is strong,” said Caliban, “I say so.”

Balthezar looked up into Caliban’s face, and the lizardfolk saw the tears forming in the dragonborn’s eyes and smelled the foul leavings of his breath weapon. He gave a little sob, before he struggled to control himself and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

“Please. Help me back to the inn,” he said.

Caliban hoisted the dragonborn up. He didn’t care that he had lost his bearskin. He simply embraced the dragonborn as hard as he could, protecting him with his body. He then took his friend’s pack from him and with his other arm wrapped around his lover’s waist. Together, they walked back to the inn, Caliban reaching over every now and again to lick the tears from his friend’s face.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the attack at the bath house, Balthezar, Puck, and Caliban return to the warehouse to defend it from Mr. Forath's other mercenary hires.

As soon as Balthezar was back to their room, he didn’t even bother to say anything to Puck when he awoke and asked what in the world happened. He simply collapsed into bed, silently suffering as the lizardfolk and kobold worked together to get him out of his blood-stained robe and treated the wound on his back. He fell asleep soon after, passing out, only waking up for a moment when he was forced to sit up and found something tipped down his throat. It was a foul-tasting liquid that burned as it came down his throat, but it washed away the last of the taste of his breath weapon, and afterwards, he felt the medicine begin to take effect, and the pain in his back went away.

Darkness soon overcame him. It was not a pleasant sleep. He did not dream, or at least he didn’t remember his dreams, but eventually, feeling heavy, and with a deep ache in his bones, he awoke.

He found himself nude, and alone. They had tucked him in, lying on his stomach on the bed, and he turned over, wincing at the still-raw feeling of the wound on his back. He felt bandages wrapped around his torso and smelled that same medicine they had poured down his throat. Breathing in deeply, he sat up, and as he did, he saw that it was already dark outside. The day was done, and they had accomplished nothing.

Caliban wasn’t there. Neither was Puck. He breathed in, hoping that the two of them were okay as he swung his legs from the bed and looked around for his clothes. He saw in the corner that his robe was lying balled up in the corner, the deep stain of blood across the back. He sighed. He didn’t even have clothes anymore. He was well and truly a pauper now. Leaning forward, he buried his face in his hands, feeling his tears returning. Where had he gone wrong? He thought he was doing the right thing, but he was opposed at every turn by something. Either that tortle and half orc, or the kobolds who were too scared to realize he wanted to help, or his own pig-headed nature, deciding that he knew the right way, and everyone else was wrong. He had even strung along Caliban, he thought with a pang of guilt in his heart, made him loyal, and then blithely led him into danger.

He stood and found that his strength had returned to him. He was tired, but the feeling would pass. He walked towards the washbasin, finding clean water there, as well as a note left for him on the table. It was from Gerda.

‘Your friends will be back by nightfall,’ it said, ‘come down when you’re rested for a nice meal on the house. Gerda.’

He read the note, before laying it back on the table. He felt a small pang of hunger – he knew that potions of healing tended to work by accelerating one’s normal metabolic rate, and therefore he was likely starving – but going downstairs to face Gerda in blood-stained robes was the last thing he wanted. It was too much blood for a little water to fix easily.

He reached up to his neck and found that they had left his holy symbol hanging there. Upon touching it, he tried to calm down. Prayer should help. He knew that was likely true, but at the same time, he felt unworthy of these powers. He ran out of magic so quickly. He could hardly do anything before he was exhausted.

“Why me?” he asked the air, falling back onto the bed, clutching the holy symbol, “Why did you choose me? Please. I need to know… something. How am I supposed to act? What was I sent here to do? Please. A sign. A symbol. Anything.”

As he implored Deneir for guidance, he clasped his hands over the icon of the candle, and squeezed his eyes shut. He waited for an answer. Even the song would do, but he heard nothing but the faint noise of people downstairs, probably dining and drinking. He shook his head, frustration replacing his hopelessness, and he let go of his symbol. He was chosen. He couldn’t deny that. He had the power. He had the magic. He had been given a gift, but the understanding was this gift came with a price. To use it to make the world better. How could he do that now after everything?

A knock on the door startled him, and he opened his eyes. He realized he was still nude and scrambled to crawl back into bed to wrap himself in the bedsheets.

“Hey! Holy man!” the voice of the kobold called in, “You awake?”

Balthezar sighed, closing his eyes. It was just Puck. He called out, “Come in.”

With that, the kobold opened the door, hanging from the doorknob as he did, before he dropped from the knob and walked in, smiling up at the dragonborn. Balthezar couldn’t bring himself to smile back.

“Good to see you’re up,” said Puck, “It was pretty nasty. Here.”

With that, the kobold reached into his pack and retrieved some clothes. He tossed the clothing onto the bed. It was a new set of robes, in a similar color. A new set of clothes to replace the ones he ruined.

“What time is it?” asked Balthezar.

“Six bells or so?” answered the kobold, immediately pushing the chair up against the wall next to the window and scrambling up to open the window. Balthezar could see streetlamps lit outside. The Kobold smiled as he breathed in the night air.

“I’ve been asleep that long?” he muttered, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t follow up on my lead.”

“I did my best to gather some more information, myself,” said Puck, turning towards the dragonborn and sitting down in the chair, “What you said this morning got me curious. Once you came stumbling in, I asked around a bit.”

“And?”

“Well, not everyone wanted to talk to a Kobold, obviously,” he said, frowning and crossing his arms, “But I went to a few dragon bars. They’re usually pretty friendly there.”

“Dragon… bars?”

He laughed a bit, before shrugging, “Dragonborn bars. Not polite places, believe me. Usually they’re full of haughty chromatics playing out their fantasies of being the big scary dragons they wish they were. No offense. One of the few steady jobs a kobold can get, even if it’s kinda humiliating. They like to pretend we’re thralls.”

“Gosh.”

“But sometimes you get a friendly one, or a motormouth. I asked one of my buddies if he’d let me in, and I got to questioning a red-scaled shipping bigwig about half a lonely bottle into some Champaign. Desperate for someone to talk to, even a Kobold. He knew a little bit about Forath.”

“What did he say?”

“That’s the trouble. He said he didn’t know much. According to him, Forath’s new in town. New money, you know?”

“But he said he’s lived here for years. Why would he lie?”

“I don’t rightly know, but I do know that there’s something mighty odd going on,” said Puck, “Once he got really drunk, he started to brag about stuff. Usual things. How much money he has, how big his house is, the size of his dick… Then he got on to comparing himself to Forath’s business. You know what he said?”

“What?”

“Forath doesn’t sell a single damn shoe to anyone in town,” said Puck, “He just hoards stock in that warehouse of his. Then he said he heard about the kobolds squatting. Then he started getting handsy, so I let my friend get back to his job.”

“H-hansy?” Balthezar muttered, frowning, “What are you…?”

“Don’t judge! It’s a living!” Puck said, wagging a finger at the dragonborn, “Lots of your kind get off on the big dragon power fantasy. Sometimes that comes with a side of sex. Dragons and dragonborn got that much in common. You’re both horny bastards. I ain’t never gone for it, but a few of the others do when times are tough. Some of ‘em even like it. Like serving a dragon, but without all the nasty slavery strings attached.”

“I-I see. I suppose that’s why he mentioned the size of his… er…” Balthezar’s face was blushing as he spoke, and he tripped over his words, before looking away from the kobold. He couldn’t imagine that. He had no such ‘big dragon power fantasy.’ “Is this what dragonborn are like?”

“Some of them,” said the kobold, “Not you, though. Chromatic or not, You’re too much of a softie.”

Balthezar frowned. Softie. He was still soft, as he always was, ever since Candlekeep. What could he do to change that?

“Well, thank you for going through all that. If he’s not actually shipping his wares, I wonder why he even has that warehouse in the first place.”

“We keep away from the wares,” said Puck, “We know it’s shoes. We don’t wear shoes. We could sell ‘em on the street, but that would just call too much attention to us and get us all arrested faster.”

“I see. Perhaps it’s time to go back to the warehouse and figure something out,” said Balthezar, furrowing his brow. His face then softened, and he found that he missed something. “Where…? Where’s Caliban?”

“Getting some dinner. He should be up…”

Just then, the two of them heard footsteps out in the hall. Balthezar perked up immediately, especially when he began to hear the faint sound of the lizardfolk’s tail dragging on the floor of the hall. Soon, he appeared in the open door, and Balthezar’s breath stopped in his throat when he saw Caliban.

He was no longer nude. In fact, he was wearing slacks, fit with a clasp over his tail, a silk shirt tailored to his form, and a clean, patterned vest in red to contrast his green scales and complement his orange ones. He was even wearing a tie. He entered, holding a wide tray, and as soon as he saw Balthezar, he froze.

“Cloudgazer, you are awake.”

“Caliban,” he answered, “You… you’re wearing clothes.”

Caliban paused, considering this fact, before he glanced over at Puck. The Kobold just smiled, before he urged the lizardfolk on. Caliban nodded, using his tail to close the door behind him, before carefully laying the tray down on the table. He then held up his arms and turned slowly around in a circle, one eye always glued to Balthezar while the other one was watching the kobold.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“I…” began Balthezar, his dour expression slowly brightening into a smile. He nodded his head and couldn’t help but laugh a little as Caliban continued to rotate slowly on the spot. “I do. You look simply fetching.”

Caliban stopped turning and glanced in Puck’s direction, clearly confused by the word, and the kobold smiled and winked one of his eyes in a gesture of encouragement. Caliban then nodded his head, satisfied, and picked the tray back up.

“You must eat,” said Caliban, placing the tray on the bed between them and sitting down, “And then you must put on your new clothes. We will be fetching together.”

“Alright, yes. Thank you,” said Balthezar, lifting the lid from the cloche and beholding the meal of simple meat stew Caliban had ordered for him. “I’m not sure what there is to dress up for at this point. There haven’t been any attacks upon the warehouse have there?”

“Not yet,” said Puck, “I put Ssylo on high alert when I heard you were attacked. He can take care of himself, so don’t worry.”

“Good,” said Balthezar, picking up his bowl of stew and beginning to eat. Hunger made this simple stew into one of the best things he had ever tasted. “I think we had better inspect Mr. Forath’s cargo, then.”

“Feeling better already, I see,” said Puck, “Amazing what a change of clothes can do for a person.”

“I have a feeling we’re going to want less formal wear for this,” said Balthezar to Caliban, “Did you buy something you can fight in?”

“Yes,” he answered, “Better-tanned than my old one. Money can buy good things.”

“It can also lead to bad things,” muttered Balthezar, “Caliban, you should eat too.”

“No. This is Cloudgazer’s share,” he said, “You are not well. You must heal.”

“I…” he attempted to answer, but soon smiled at his friend’s concern, and quietly dug back into his stew.

\--

It was full evening when the three of them arrived at the docks, Balthezar wearing his new clothes. The lizardfolk and kobold had picked out for him a set of blue trousers and a matching blue shirt with sleeves that flared at the elbows. Puck said it made him look like a wizard. On top of that, Caliban had insisted upon buying him a Chainmail shirt for his own protection, and he wore it over the top of his clothing. He knew for a fact this likely represented the end of the group’s funds. They had to finish this soon, or they would begin to starve.

Caliban, once he had nicely folded his new, formal clothes, emerged wearing a new loincloth. It was bearskin, but the bear seemed to have been healthier, and the leather was well-tanned and didn’t smell of the animal. Additionally, Caliban had purchased a pair of fur-lined boots, and he didn’t seem to need to bother wearing any kind of shirt or tunic. Balthezar had to admit the creature looked like a proper barbarian.

Soon, with the two of them walking close, always with an eye out for the Tortle and Half-Orc, and with Puck leading the way, they arrived at pier four, and Forath’s warehouse. The hole in the wall left by Caliban had been patched over with scrap wood, and in the evening light, they could see kobolds loitering outside the warehouse. Young ones, probably days old at most, ran and played with one another up and down the boardwalk, while older ones stood by and watched them, making sure nobody unwelcome approached. With Puck in their party, the dragonborn and lizardfolk raised no alarm, but as they approached, Balthezar felt a hundred eyes upon him, reflecting the meager light of the streetlamps back upon him.

“Hi!” Puck said, simply, in Draconic, “They wanna see Ssylo.”

“Ssylo says they don’t get back in unless they solve the problem,” the guard answered.

“That’s what they’re doing here, birdbrain! Let me in!”

Balthezar grimaced at how casually Puck insulted his fellow kobold, but neither of them appeared to react much. His analytical mind went into overdrive. It seemed to be some sort of cultural marker of mutual respect, perhaps. Insults between peers aren’t seen as insulting, but rather indicate trust and camaraderie. He took note of that as the guard opened the door – carefully, in a way that did not spring the trap – and let the three of them in.

Casting a dim light upon his holy symbol so that he and Caliban could see without irritating the eyes of their hosts, Balthezar entered, followed by Caliban and allowing Puck to lead the way. The three of them wound through the warehouse, and Balthezar was amazed at how alive the place was at night. The Kobolds, it seemed, had set up a tiny city within a city all within the confines of this one building. He smelled food cooking and he saw what appeared to be small groups of friends or family gathered around small fires roasting fish on sticks as they talked in tiny voices about the day’s adventures. He saw Kobolds at the corners of the building sitting upon long rugs with wares set out in front of them. The wares were sometimes bits of food or clothing, and sometimes little curios, and a few others had customers gathered around, trading with either coin or barter. Chattering laughter occasionally rose up over the noise of pidgin draconic. Balthezar smiled at the sights and sounds of a Kobold warren at peace.

Eventually, they climbed up a long flight of stairs to the scaffold suspended above the shelves of sealed crates. The three of them approached a small, sealed room up above the warehouse floor, and Puck knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” screamed the small voice of Ssylo on the other side.

“It’s me. With our big friends.”

“Damn it!” Ssylo muttered. There was a commotion on the other side of the door, and Balthezar was curious about what was going on, until the door opened, and two other kobolds rushed out, covering their faces in embarrassment. Puck sighed in annoyance, and entered, and when Balthezar looked in, he saw that Ssylo was pulling on his knickers and throwing on a shirt while standing next to a rumpled bed.

It was then that it occurred to Balthezar that he didn’t really know what gender any of the kobolds actually were. They all looked the same to him. They were just small, unisex little gremlins with high-pitched voices who never grew taller than maybe two-foot-six. He looked back at the two kobolds Ssylo was apparently having a ménage a trois with, and wondered which of the three was female, if any.

“Well? Get in here,” Ssylo grunted, sitting down on a plush velvet chair that was far too large for him.

Balthezar and Caliban entered, and immediately Ssylo’s personality was clear. This room was once a control room and office for the foreman of this warehouse, most likely, but Ssylo had decorated it as if it was a room in a plush mansion. A velvet chair here, an eastern woven rug there, silk sheets and pillowcases. If the ceiling was tall enough, Balthezar was sure he would have included a four-poster bed. However, everything felt cramped to the taste of the big people. It wasn’t a large room, but for a kobold, Balthezar imagined it was perfect.

“So?”

“S-so?”

Ssylo smote his forehead with his hand at this answer from the dragonborn and grunted. “You got something to say to me? Or did you just want to kill the mood?”

Puck took up the story, “We figured something out about Forath. Tell ‘em, Cloudgazer.”

All eyes turned to Balthezar and he immediately became nervous. He closed his eyes, breathing in, and then out, before he straightened his back and spoke.

“We’ve reason to believe that Mr. Forath isn’t who he says he is.”

“What?”

“Um… Mr. Forath said some things to me that weren’t altogether, um, true. We gathered some information and figured out that Mr. Forath doesn’t use this warehouse for what he says he does. I’m curious about these shoes he has downstairs.”

“The… shoes?”

Balthezar nodded, “He’s not selling any. He’s been hoarding them downstairs. That seems suspicious to me. I would ask your permission to search the crates downstairs. I’m wondering if there’s something there we can, er, use against him.”

At this, Ssylo’s annoyance melted into a sly smile, he leaned his pale arm against the arm of his chair and rested his face in his hand. With his other arm he gestured lazily towards the door. With this tacit permission, Balthezar bowed deeply and turned to leave.

“Puck, send the twins back in here,” said Ssylo, “I wasn’t done with them.”

Puck rolled his eyes and smiled, before he followed Balthezar and Caliban out. As soon as he was on the scaffolding, he waved to the two kobolds who were still standing upon the scaffold, staring hopefully into the door. When Puck jerked his head towards Ssylo’s room, the two of them brightened into a smile, giggling in identical voices before they rushed back towards the white kobold’s lair, running between Caliban’s legs as they did. Soon, the door closed behind them, and all they could hear within was a faint giggle.

Looking uncomfortable, Balthezar began to walk back towards the stairs. Puck looked up into his face and smirked at the discomfort there. Caliban seemed not to care.

“Well, your brother sure is… spirited,” said Balthezar, finally, as he descended the stairs.

“Dragonborn ain’t the only ones who get off on the big scary dragon fantasy,” explained Puck, shrugging his shoulders, “He was raised to believe he was the invincible reincarnation of one of Tiamat’s heads.”

“T-tiamat?” Balthezar hissed, recognizing the name immediately, “The evil dragon goddess?”

“That’s why we ended up having to leave,” he said, “The cult we were working for wanted to sacrifice him in a ritual to revive Tiamat. We decided that sucks and left.”

“You worked for a dragon cult of Tiamat?”

“We were wild kobolds, Cloudgazer. That’s a good life for a wild kobold,” explained Puck, “Food, shelter, security. More than we get here, sometimes. The sacrificing and the murder are kind of a bummer, though, and when they came for my brother, I had to get him out. It’s a miracle we managed to find something better. Most of the kobolds here are second or third generation Waterdhavians. They never had to deal with cave life or working for a cult or a dragon like some of the old timers.”

“I see. I’m glad you were able to get away from that.”

“I am too, believe me,” Puck said, before he hopped down off the last stair and rushed up to the shelves in the middle of the warehouse floor. He found a large crate and inspected it for a moment, before he turned to Balthezar, “What do we do?”

Balthezar thought for a moment. If those weren’t really shoes, then there could be anything inside. He decided in that moment, before sitting down upon the floor, cross-legged, and taking hold of his holy symbol.

“Give me some time,” he said, “I must perform a ritual.”

Then, Balthezar went silent, praying deeply to Deneir for guidance. Puck and Caliban both watched him, just as silent, afraid of interrupting whatever magic the dragonborn was using. Ten minutes passed, before Balthezar seemed to awake with a start, breathing in deeply. Puck noticed at once that Balthezar’s eyes were strange and held a faint magical glow. He looked around, as if seeing the world for the first time, and stood to his feet.

“What did you do?”

“If there’s anything magic within these crates, I’ll be able to sense it now,” he said, before he turned and gazed deeply into the boxes, “Unless they’re lined with lead or somesuch.”

“So, you see anything? Is it safe?”

Balthezar studied the boxes for a moment, looking around and wandering up and down the shelves looking for any ping of magic. When he found nothing, he nodded his head and returned to his friends.

“Nothing. I think it’s safe. Caliban, if you might open the box?”

Caliban nodded, seeming pleased to be useful, and with his bare hands he dug his fingers into the top of the sealed crate. He pulled hard, hissing at the exertion, and pulled one corner of the top off, splintering the wood and exposing the contents.

Balthezar flinched back, acting as if he was just bathed in a sudden, blinding flash of light, and Puck, confused, asked, “What? What happened? You okay?”

“I… I just…” Balthezar stammered, blinking his eyes at the glow. As soon as his eyes adjusted, he stepped forward and aimed the light from his holy symbol into the crate. Within, there was not a shoe to be found. Instead there were weapons. It was a crate full of swords, and each sword gave off a bright glow in his eyes attuned to detecting magic.

“Weapons,” said Caliban, simply.

“What the hell!” cried Puck.

“No ordinary weapons…” Balthezar said, solemnly, “Caliban, open it further, please. I have to inspect one.”

The lizardfolk did as he was told, and soon, the top of the crate was completely off and resting on the floor. He pulled out one of the swords, a simple-enough shortsword, and offered it to the dragonborn. It gave off an unmistakable glow of an enchantment to sharpen the blade and guide the strikes of the wielder. He held it in his hands, handling it. It was a simple artifice, one he had read about before in Candlekeep. The most basic of magical weapon, but still a wild extravagance to most people.

“It’s enchanted,” he said, simply.

“A magic weapon?” asked Puck, incredulous, “Are all of them…?”

“Yes,” Balthezar answered, “I suspect the rest of the crates will be filled with other weapons as well. He wasn’t transporting shoes. He’s transporting weapons.”

“But… that’s illegal.”

“Illegal?”

Puck nodded, “The code legal says unauthorized magic ain’t good. That goes for things too. Magic things are a big no-no to buy and sell within the city limits.”

“Then what in the world…?” muttered Balthezar, holding the sword with awe and trepidation.

Their eyes were drawn to another loud noise as Caliban pulled back the top of another crate. Immediately, the magic shone through, causing Balthezar’s eyes to blink. Caliban pulled out a different kind of object, a collar of some sort, with a jewel on it, that held a similar enchantment.

“Wait a sec,” said Puck, “How come you didn’t see the magic through the box?”

“Well… that’s a good question,” said Balthezar, returning the sword into the box he found it before kneeling to inspect the box. Lead would have made the boxes heavier, and would have been easy to spot, but he saw nothing else physical that might mask the items from the outside. He furrowed his brow in thought, before he blinked his eyes and explained, “It seems to be the magic of Grandmaster Nystul.”

“Who?”

Balthezar seemed shocked at this lack of knowledge on the kobold’s part. He blinked his eyes, but controlled himself and explained, “Er… Nystul. A great mage of some renown. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of him. He wrote many books on the qualities of…”

“Not all of us grew up in libraries, holy man. Get to the point.”

“Oh! Yes. Well. He was a master of illusion. Specifically, in masking magic from detection. That explains why my ritual couldn’t see it. These boxes are treated with a magic aura that makes the things within undetectable. All of these boxes are likely treated with the same.”

“All of them? We’re sitting on top of a damned magical armory and we didn’t even know it?” Puck cried, “No wonder he’s so keen on killing us.”

“Did you have any idea?”

“No! We just moved in here cuz’ we needed a place to rest our heads and the place was abandoned most days. Ssylo set up shop upstairs, I went out and brought home bacon. Eventually we told people about our set-up here and set up a warren. We made sure not to touch the crates cuz’ we knew that woulda brought the heat down on us faster!”

“What does this do?” asked Caliban as he held up more of those collars. Balthezar turned and saw Caliban handling an unknown magic item and rushed over.

“Caliban, be careful,” he said, “They might be dangerous.”

“I recognize those!” Puck said, suddenly, staring up at the collars. In the light of Balthezar’s holy aura, the jewel glowed purple, “That’s an artifact of the cult that tried to sacrifice my brother!”

“It is?” asked Balthezar, quietly, before he stared harder at the item. The icon in the center was in the shape of a silvery dragon’s claw, with a round, violet jewel in its grip, “What in the world is Mr. Forath doing with something like that?”

“If I remember right, that’s for transformed half-dragons and other crazies who give themselves claws and stuff. It makes their natural weapons better. Caliban could use it.”

“It’s the symbol of an evil cult of Tiamat!” Balthezar said with horror, staring at Puck.

“It is a tool,” said Caliban, slowly, staring down at one of the collars in his hands, he put one back into the box, before he raised the other one up and belted it around his neck, “Tools are meant to be used.”

“Oh! But…” Balthezar began, before he sighed. He shook his head, taking note of what he remembered of Nystul’s aura. He could likely recreate the spell once he’s gotten stronger to try to conceal Caliban’s new acquisition. “Fine. In any case, we must present these to the authorities. If Mr. Forath is doing what I think he is, we may all be in danger.”

“What do you think he’s doing?”

“Smuggling,” said the dragonborn, “That’s what it is, yes? Nobody sees him selling shoes because he doesn’t sell to reputable buyers. He’s selling to black markets. The city watch will want to know about this.”

“But if the city watch knows about this, they’ll find out about us,” Puck said, “We’re gonna get kicked out.”

“I…” Balthezar said, quietly, before he thought harder, “Perhaps there’s a reward. We should go at least investigate what the police know. In the meantime…”

As he said this, there was a sudden sound of horse hooves outside. The chattering of the kobolds all around them had suddenly fallen silent. Caliban hissed, the jewel around his neck suddenly glowing vibrantly as it reacted to the creature’s killing intent.

“Who is that?” Balthezar asked, quietly.

“Nobody friendly,” Puck muttered, as he walked over to the crate of shortswords and claimed two for himself, “Caliban, start opening crates. We got a warehouse to defend.”

\--

Forath watched from a healthy distance as his men approached the warehouse. There was a wide smile upon his elven features. At his sides, Pequod and Hotspur were standing, Hotspur ready to rush in and Pequod with arms crossed, scowling at the situation they were in.

“Something wrong, tortle?” asked Forath, without looking at his hire.

“Nothing,” Pequod muttered, “Just thinking of the best way to approach this.”

“The best way is to wipe out the whole lot of them.”

“The city watch isn’t going to like that,” said Pequod, “Kobold or not, they’re still people.”

“That’s debatable. I think I can convince the magisters to see things my way,” he explained, his smile widening.

“You could at least look a little more solemn.”

“I’m getting my property back, tortle. I’ve no reason not to smile,” he said, “Now, get in there, you two. And don’t disappoint me again.”

“Yes, sir!” said Hotspur before she stomped off, raising her great axe high, hoping to get revenge on that dragonborn. Pequod hesitated for but an instant, before he followed his companion, catching up to her as they walked on.

Once he felt he was out of earshot of Forath, Pequod muttered, “I don’t like this, Hotspur.”

“Why?” she asked, knowing that Pequod never sounded so serious without good reason.

“There’s fifty men here. This is overkill. We never wanted to really kill the kobolds, did we? Just put the fear of the Gods in ‘em.”

Hotspur was silent at this, but by the set of her jaw he saw that he was putting words to feelings she’d had herself.

“I know you want your rematch with the holy man and his pet lizard, but don’t go crazy, alright? If the city watch finds out about our involvement in this, we’re going down with Forath.”

“Why not run?”

“I got my reasons,” said Pequod, “Let me take the lead here. Once the attack starts, we’ll use that as a distraction and…”

As he said this, however, he heard a high-pitched squeal. The sound caused him to perk up as he turned to look towards the warehouse. He saw a tiny point of light flowing slowly down from the high windows of the warehouse, coming to rest on the ground in the middle of the crowd of Forath’s men. Before he could realize what that was, there was a massive flash of light, and a sound like roaring flame as a gigantic circle of fire suddenly erupted from the point, swallowing up the men standing around. Pequod and Hotspur’s eyes both widened as Pequod forced his companion to step back out of the range of the fireball. Another eruption occurred, and then another. Fireballs! There couldn’t be that many wizards positioned in there, could there? The holy man was an Arcane Cleric, but surely, he couldn’t do that! Unless…

Pequod smiled, before he gave Hotspur a gentle pat on the back. “I think we found our distraction. Follow me.”

Hotspur didn’t question it. She simply grimaced, and muttered, “I hate magic.”

\--

Up in the scaffolds, Balthezar and Puck were working together to direct the kobolds they had recruited to begin lobbing magic out the window. As they did, Caliban carried another crate up the stairs, ripping off the top and revealing another shipment of necklaces with little red jewels hanging from little gold chains.

“Make sure you don’t aim for anyone who has already passed out,” said Balthezar, nervously, “No deaths! This needs to be clean, understood?”

“More to the left!” cried Puck, aiming for one of his fellows, “That cluster there! Fire!”

As he said that, the next volley of fireballs was lobbed. Each Kobold was wearing one of those necklaces, which had between three and six little red jewels attached. As a unit, they all ripped one of the gems off, causing them to glow ominously in their hands, before they tossed them out the window. A big cheer rose up as the men below began to scatter, retreating from the onslaught of fire.

“Stop!” cried Balthezar, “They’re running away!”

A chorus of cheers rose anew among the kobolds. Even so, Balthezar was nervous. If magic items were illegal within the city, then surely, they would be in trouble if the watch found out about this. Even so, these men were coming with intent to kill. Balthezar couldn’t allow that.

“We should go finish the rest,” said Caliban.

“I agree,” said Puck, before turning to the rest of the Kobolds and saying in draconic, “Awright, pissants! Hold your fire til’ I give the signal.”

The line of kobolds with concentrated fire around their necks called back, either jolly, excited answers, or insulting Puck back. Then, Balthezar and his two friends climbed down the stairs, rushing towards the floor.

Ssylo had posted himself down here, inspecting what they had. He had ordered his kobolds not to touch anything until it was properly identified, but it was clear that he coveted the boxes.

“It’s time to finish this,” said Balthezar to Ssylo, withdrawing his mace, and laying a hand on his holy symbol, “You stay here and direct the warren, Ssylo. We can deal with the threat outside.”

“You got it, holy man,” he said.

With that, Balthezar continued, until he heard Ssylo’s voice cry out, “Hey!” causing him to stop.

“Yes?”

“What God do you follow again, Balthezar Cloudgazer?”

Balthezar was surprised by the question, but he smiled, as he said, “I was chosen by Deneir, Scribe of Oghma. Keeper of the Song of Universal Harmony.”

“A library God, huh?” Ssylo said, smirking, “Figures. Don’t have much truck with Gods. I got my reasons, but I guess I gotta make an exception and thank Him once we’re finished here.”

Balthezar smiled, pride welling up in his chest, before he turned without another word and rushed out the door.

Unbeknownst to him, as Ssylo waved goodbye to his three champions, he didn’t hear the sound of the shadow behind him. Suddenly, there was a hand around his snout before he could intone any magic words, and two orcish hands grabbed his arms before he could make any gestures. He tried to cry out, but the two assailants carried him, helpless, into the shadows.

\--

The survivors of the fireballs approached. After their brief retreat, and subsequent chewing out from Forath, the ten or so men nervously approached the warehouse. They were largely human and dwarf. Rough and tumble types who had been hired from the yawning portal the day before to take part in this raid. They found that they were in way over their head, but at least the fireballs had stopped.

However, three figures appeared from the door of the warehouse. Caliban stepped out first, his eyes darting every which way, circling around independently. He was choosing his first target, his mouth watering and the jewel at his neck shining. Between his legs emerged Puck, two swords in his hand flashing with unnaturally keen edges. As Caliban stepped forward, Balthezar then appeared, the light from his holy symbol giving him a glow of divine power. He prayed briefly, before his mace was wreathed in thunderous force.

There was a brief standoff between the two factions. Balthezar wondered if they could truly take ten men by themselves, but he had to have faith. This was what Deneir had sent him to Waterdeep for. To save these people and to expose whatever conspiracy Forath was a part of. He nodded his head, before he raised his mace and pointed it towards the incoming men.

“Ready, Caliban? Puck?”

“Do I kill?”

“No,” said Balthezar, “Keep them alive.”

“Whatever you say, holy man,” said Puck, before he and Caliban both launched themselves forward.

As they did, Balthezar raised his empty hand and intoned a small prayer. Holy guidance – a radiance so strong it would lead his friends to strike true. A sudden bolt of radiant energy shot forth from him, striking one of the men in front. He was pushed back by the sheer force of the blow, but continued to run, until he realized that he, too, was glowing with a sudden holy energy. Before he could realize what was happening, Caliban was on top of him, the purple gem at his neck glowing as he bared his teeth at this man. There was a sudden violet energy swirling around his teeth as he bit down, sharpening them into even more wicked points. The man passed out from pain and fear, but rather than tear out the man’s shoulder, Caliban carefully extracted his teeth, savoring the taste of the man’s blood, and turned to face his next target.

The next few men rushed up, swords raised, and went after Caliban. They swung hard on the lizardfolk. One of them missed, but the other bit into his chest in a shallow wound. He felt it. He had to control his rage, so he did not accidentally kill.

However, as the two men were distracted by Caliban, both suddenly fell to the ground, screaming. They clutched their legs, and Caliban saw the blood flowing from the backs of their heels. Puck, twin blades whirling, finished up his attack upon the two men on the ground, before he used Caliban’s tail as a bridge, leaping up onto the lizard’s hunched back, and finally coming to stand on his friend’s shoulder, nimbly crouching as he figured out which man to cripple next.

The next man attempted to attack, but out of nowhere, his head was struck by Balthezar’s mace wreathed in holy energy. He stumbled, and attempted to turn around to attack the dragonborn, but the first step he took caused the booming energy to deafen him, and he fell to the floor, dazed.

The three of them faced down the remaining six men, parrying blows, turning attacks with armor, and landing blows of their own. It was efficiently done. Balthezar felt stronger than before, Caliban seemed to have embraced a certain reckless ferocity, and Puck was unnaturally skilled with the twin swords as he hopped from target to target, calling his prey, taking them down, and calling new prey all in seconds. Soon, the boardwalk was littered with blood and bodies. Most were awake, and Balthezar was certain that they would all live.

“Who is hurt?” asked Balthezar, raising a hand.

“Save your magic,” insisted Caliban, indicating the scratch he had received, “This is nothing.”

He walked away before Balthezar could heal him, turning towards Forath. The elf seemed frustrated as he watched this all occur, and he reached to his belt for the rapier he kept there. The three of them approached, readying themselves for a fight. Caliban could feel the rage welling up inside.

“So, betraying me, eh?” he said, his mouth curling into a smile, “Damnable false dragon. I never should have involved you in this.”

“But you did,” said Balthezar, “We know about the smuggling, Mr. Forath.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“Take you in to the authorities. That will stop you from harassing these kobolds. They have suffered enough.”

Forath laughed. “You think this is the end? For you, maybe.”

Balthezar was immediately on-edge. Forath seemed far too confident in this situation.

“Surrender,” he said, “Now.”

“Or what?” asked Forath.

“Must you even ask?”

“I’ll give you my answer then,” said Forath, before he breathed in deeply and turned towards Caliban and Balthezar. Balthezar narrowed his eyes. He recognized that sort of maneuver. It was as if he was…

“Caliban! Get down!” he screamed suddenly as he pushed the lizardfolk out of the way. All of a sudden, a familiar green wave of smoke flowed from Forath’s mouth. Caliban was safely out of the way, but Balthezar was enveloped in it, immediately coughing and sputtering. It was strong! Certainly, stronger than his own breath weapon, but still, it was just poison. His body was attuned to it, and so he pushed through the feeling, waving an arm to disperse the smoke.

Forath snarled, making a sound too familiar to Balthezar to be an elf, and Balthezar snarled back in kind, finding that he had the noise within him as well.

“You’re no elf,” he said, “Caliban.”

“Cloudgazer…”

“I’m fine,” said Balthezar, putting the pieces together in his head. Rituals, holy orders, evil cults. Information of all of these swirled around his head, all based on the strength of that dragon’s breath. He was no true dragon, but he was not a true-blooded dragonborn either. He was something else.

“Do I kill?” asked Caliban.

Balthezar paused, before he said, “Yes.”

Immediately, Caliban roared, rushing forward to attack Forath. The false elf laughed as he parried the lizard’s blow, and riposted, burying the blade into Caliban’s shoulder. However, he had let fly his rage, and seemed to barely notice.

Puck jumped into the fray, then, slashing out at Forath. He slashed into the elf’s leg, but his magical blades seemed to simply bounce off. He grunted in confusion. Forath wasn’t wearing armor on his legs. He only had simple leggings on. Unless…

“A disguise!” called Puck.

“Astute,” muttered Forath, before he breathed in once again and, with both Caliban and Puck within his sights, he breathed out another rancid cloud of poison. Even Caliban’s rage could not protect him from such an attack, and he began to hiss in pain, falling to his knees. Puck was knocked over by the sheer force of the draconic poison as well, dropping one of his swords to the floor. Forath stepped on the sword with a boot, laughing in triumph.

“Caliban!” cried Balthezar. He was baffled. He could only muster his own breath weapon once a day. “Puck!”

“Useless!” cried Forath, kicking Puck hard across the face, so that he rolled along the ground and went still, “Useless!”

At this, Forath reached up with his hand with a great deal of pleasure and whipped something invisible from his head. Immediately, his form began to shift and change as the hat of disguise was removed. His scales were bright green, matching Balthezar’s almost exactly, but his face was hard and craggy, crusted with bony horn and jutting teeth. He was wearing full plate armor, and from his back, unlike Balthezar, a long green tail grew.

“Half-dragon,” muttered Balthezar.

“You got it in one, false one,” the creature he once knew as Forath taunted, “And now, you all die.”

With that, the half-dragon turned to Caliban, still suffering from the poisonous breath, and raised an arm high to stab into him. He savored the moment, especially when the lizardfolk looked up at him with one eye, and turned his other to look at Balthezar, who was screaming out for the Lizardfolk to get up and run. However, he was too slow, and the half-dragon’s arm came down.

“Suck on this horn-face!” a high-pitched voice suddenly screamed, causing the creature to turn, distracted from his prey. He turned in just enough time to see a bolt of frosty energy come screaming towards him, smashing right into his face, causing his scales to frost over.

Balthezar turned and saw, running up from one side, Pequod, Hotspur, and, riding atop Pequod’s shell, Ssylo! He went wide-eyed at the appearance of these three but remembered himself a moment later.

Hotspur rushed ahead first, interposing herself between Caliban and the Half-dragon. She slashed into him, finding purchase in his plate armor with her axe. He hissed, and roared, stepping away from her.

“What? Traitors!”

“It’s only betrayal if we intended to help you in the first place,” Pequod quipped, rushing over to Puck’s limp body and swinging around his bagpipes, “Up you get, buddy.”

Soon, he began to play. It was an odd, deep sound, which Balthezar suddenly recognized. It harmonized with the song he heard in his soul. His eyes went wide as a faint energy glowed around Puck, and he stirred awake. Immediately, Ssylo jumped down from the tortle and crouched down to hug his brother.

“You idiot!” he cried, “You almost died!”

“I’m gonna die if you don’t stop choking me,” Puck screamed back.

Pequod had finished his song, before turning towards the cleric and jerking his head to Caliban. “Well? You gonna do your job, or do I have to do everything around here?”

At this, Balthezar knew what his own job was. He ran over to the Lizardfolk and laid his hands upon his throat, his own voice harmonizing as well as it could with the universe. Caliban breathed in, his throat unobstructed suddenly.

“What is happening?” asked Caliban.

“I don’t know, but we’re winning,” said Balthezar, touching his chest. He didn’t feel exhausted. Like a muscle that has been stretched, he felt as if he had more magic in his reserves, and he smiled, thanking Deneir for His blessing.

Caliban nodded his head, and leaped to his feet, hissing once again as he launched himself at the half-dragon. Hotspur and Caliban both worked together, pushing the creature back away from the wounded, and landing what blows they could on the half-dragon. For every attack each of them could muster, however, the draconic foe launched two, biting into each of them. For as much damage as they were dealing, they were taking just as much back. Caliban especially looked rough, as Balthezar’s spell could not heal all the damage from the poison.

Help came when the half-dragon suddenly stumbled. The bite of steel into the backs of his legs caused him nearly to fall as Puck sliced out at him. Now that he was aware of the armor, he knew enough to aim for the joints between the plate.

“Damn you!” the half-dragon screamed.

He turned to focus on the tiny Kobold, but something massive approached, coming right up to his face. With a smile on his face, Pequod had the reed of his bagpipe in his mouth and blew the brownest note he could muster. The sheer force of it caused the half-dragon to cry out, blowing him back. He nearly fell to the floor but managed to stay on his feet.

“You’re all dead,” the creature screamed, madly, “Dead! You hear m…?”

Before he could finish the sentence, another blast of radiant energy smashed into his chest. All eyes turned to Balthezar, standing in the back of the group, astonished that his own power had stretched this far.

“Finish it!” he cried, as the half-dragon began to glow, marked by divine power, “By the guidance of Deneir.”

All at once, the four fighters approached, spurred on by the Cleric’s holy order. The great axe met its mark first, followed by two slices from the shortswords of the kobold. The tortle’s rapier sank then into his side, and, finally, Caliban threw himself forward and went into a frenzy of bites.

The half-dragon could not stand up to the onslaught. The lizardfolk’s teeth sank in, over and over again, bloodying the half-dragon’s face and shoulders. He cried out in pain and rage, before he began to breathe in, green smoke pouring from his nose, intending to end them all with one more application of dragon’s breath.

“Die!” he said, and Caliban was too deep into his rage to notice the rancid smell return.

However, just before the half-dragon could breathe out. There was a dull thud against his head. His eyes went wide as his mouth was forced closed by the mace smashing against his head. He struggled to stay up, but found himself too dizzy, and the weight of the lizardfolk on top of him forced him to his knees, and then to the ground, unconscious.

Balthezar, breathing hard and with a tight grip on his blood-stained mace, stared down at the creature at his feet, so similar to himself, and yet completely different. Either created from a union of dragon and mortal flesh, or an unnatural creature made from some unholy ritual to remake a man in the image of Tiamat. He had no business being here in the city of splendor.

Caliban seemed already to be calming himself down, but still he bared his teeth. A gentle hand from Balthezar calmed him enough not to begin feasting on the body immediately.

At this, all of the fighters took stock of their wounds, and Balthezar and Caliban both turned to regard Pequod and Hotspur with some suspicion.

“What are you doing? I thought you worked for him,” said Balthezar.

A look ran between Pequod and Hotspur, before the tortle stepped forward, the spokesman of the duo. “Only so far as we were using him to get to the bottom of a certain mystery.”

“Mystery?”

“Magic weapon trade,” Hotspur grunted, “Illegal stuff.”

“We were hired by the police to sting Forath,” explained Pequod, “You threw a wrench in all our plans, but things seemed to have turned out okay.”

“You’re police?” demanded Puck.

“Contractors!” Pequod said, smiling, before he reached up to the plaid sash he wore over his shell and flipped over the clasp holding it together. There was a blue badge there, with a stylized image of a harp upon it, “Harpers. Good guys. Those weapons and items were going to some bad people. We had to find out where they came from.”

Balthezar was astonished. Harpers, from what little he knew, were a shadowy society that fought for the good of the world. They were all over, and this Tortle happened to be one of them?

“I don’t know what to say,” he said, “Why did you attack us, then? Why not…?”

“Well the first time, your lizard attacked me first!” Hotspur cried, anger in her voice.

“And we weren’t trying to kill you the second time,” said Pequod, “We were attempting to put you out of commission until we finished our work.”

“You’re tougher than you look, though,” admitted Hotspur. Giving such a compliment seeming to be painful for her.

“But! All’s well that ends well, eh?” said Pequod, retrieving some rope from his pack and beginning to tie up the half-dragon, “I’ll take care of the half-breed for you. Don’t you worry.”

Balthezar’s eyes were widening all the time. Caliban, confused, seemed to look to the dragonborn for what he should think of all this. He thought, hard, and his face hardened a moment later.

“What about the kobolds?” he asked.

“I don’t care,” said Pequod, “Let ‘em have the damn warehouse. I just want the weapons.”

“But if the police raid the place…”

“Then don’t be here when they raid,” said Pequod, with a sly smile towards Ssylo, “And when they’re done, come on back.”

Ssylo’s eyes widened, before he nodded his head. He turned to look at Puck, and said, “Stay with ‘em,” before he turned and ran back towards the warehouse. Puck breathed in and out.

“It’s only a temporary solution,” said Puck, “Someone else will buy the warehouse.”

“Buy it yourself then,” snapped Hotspur, tired of all of this, “Or go live on the streets for all I care.”

“My companion has a point. Gold speaks all tongues, after all,” explained Pequod.

“I hate that phrase,” said Balthezar, “They don’t have any gold. That’s the trouble. They’re poor, are paid pennies, and have to degrade themselves to make ends meet. They can’t just buy their way out of trouble.”

“Well, then, I don’t know what to tell you,” said Pequod, slinging the half-dragon over his shell without apparent effort, “Buy it for them yourself, if you’re such a philanthropist. You got any money?”

Balthezar’s nose wrinkled at this, and he looked away from the tortle, suddenly embarrassed at his own poor stature. Pequod laughed, shrugging his shell, before he began to walk away, followed by Hotspur.

“Too bad,” said Pequod, “The police will be here in one hour. Get everyone out before then.”

As Balthezar, Puck, and Caliban watched them leave, Balthezar couldn’t help but furrow his brow in a sudden rage. They had won, and yet nothing was solved. The kobolds would still be homeless as soon as some other rich person had acquired the warehouse. They couldn’t all be secret smugglers. Eventually one would be a legitimate businessman, and then where would Puck and his warren be?

“Come on, Puck,” he said, “Lets warn your warren.”

“O-okay,” he muttered, unease in his voice.

Sensing the dour tone, despite their victory, Caliban stayed close to Balthezar as he walked back to the pier four warehouse, holding his hand tightly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With their first fateful adventure done, Balthezar is unsatisfied. He plans to confront whoever buys the kobold's home, but is instead confronted by Pequod.

Days passed. Puck went back to his normal life, and Caliban and Balthezar, with no money left, squatted with the kobolds. They had spent a few days in the sewers, a life that Balthezar found perfectly intolerable, and once it was time to head back to the warehouse, he was glad to see the back of that grimy tunnel.

They made a little money for food when Caliban assisted Puck in his hunting. The two of them had kept the magic items they had claimed in secret, although all the fireball necklaces had to go back into the boxes to be seized by the police and the Harpers, and Caliban proved to be an effective hunter, even without his night vision. He seemed proud to bring money home every other night for Balthezar, who spent most of his days reading scrolls borrowed from the temple, trying to find some last-minute way to help the Kobolds. However, he found nothing of the sort.

Eventually, the news came around that the warehouse had been seized by the city, and an auction for the property would begin soon. Balthezar, without telling anyone, left the warren on the evening of the auction, intending to try to talk with whoever ended up buying the property.

He wore the nice clothes that had been bought for him, as laundered as he could manage to get them, and arrived at the auction house in the North Ward. He stared up at the fanciful façade of the auction hall, ionic pillars framing the tall double-doors. He felt underdressed compared to the people all around him entering the hall, but still, he had to go in and try to control the fate of the warren. They were his responsibility now.

He climbed the stairs, feeling the eyes of the people around him and his shabby clothing and cheap holy symbol. He recognized other representatives of temples around as well, who put him to shame. He was nearly to the doors when he heard a voice call out his name.

“Balthezar Cloudgazer,” he heard, “Imagine seeing you here.”

The dragonborn turned around, trying to find the source of the voice. His first instinct was to reach to his belt for his weapon, but he hadn’t brought it. Instead, he touched his symbol, and, soon, looked up.

The tortle seemed to be surprised that the dragonborn had found him, sitting up in the support rafters connecting the pillars to the front of the building. He smiled down at Balthezar, before he hopped from the rafters and landed hard. Balthezar wondered, with how much the tortle clearly weighed, whether this bard had a habit of breaking floors pulling this stunt.

“They ain’t gonna let you in like that,” said Pequod, “No use trying. Come on.”

Without waiting, Pequod walked back down the stairs. Balthezar stared at the broad shell of this tortle and considered just turning away and trying anyhow just to spite him. However, he sighed, knowing the tortle was right. He followed, catching up a moment later.

“So, what do you want?” asked Balthezar, “I assume you knew I would be here.”

“Yup,” Pequod said, “Call it a hunch.”

“I hope you aren’t here to gloat. I simply cannot take that right now.”

“Don’t go off on me, now, Balthezar,” said Pequod, “Come on, sit. We’ll talk.”

With that, he gestured to a stone bench attached to a planter built into the sidewalk, before he went to the opposite side of the walk and leaned on the iron fence of some noble house or other. Balthezar, not knowing what else to do, sat down, looking up at the tortle.

“What about?”

“Your future,” said Pequod, smiling, “I don’t have to tell you, but you impressed me. You and that boyfriend of yours.”

Balthezar looked away at the mention of Caliban. He said, “I don’t feel impressive. Every time I think things are going well, something just seems to go wrong.”

“Well of course they do!” cried Pequod, “You take everything on yourself! You’re a daft goody-two-shoes, who doesn’t know how to let other people do their jobs.”

“You don’t have to insult me.”

“Sorry,” Pequod said with a laugh, “You’re just funny, is all. The lizardfolk worships the ground you walk on. The kobolds are on their way to thralling themselves to you like you’re a proper damn dragon. Hell, the most discerning God of the realms gave you his blessing and yet here you are, thinking you’re trash.”

“None of that led to anything, though! Caliban and Puck and all the rest are still in trouble. I didn’t do a thing for any of them.”

“Maybe not, but you were there for them when they needed you,” explained Pequod, “That’s just as good.”

“Maybe.”

“No maybes about it,” said Pequod, kindness sneaking into his voice, “Take it from a scoundrel. Fake recognizes real. The only thing left is how you want to proceed.”

“Well… I was going to speak to whoever bought the property,” said Balthezar, “Maybe talk to them about donating the property, or at least leasing it as a rental, perhaps? The Kobolds take good care of it, I’ve seen. It’s clean, and they raise children there, and…”

“You don’t know Waterdhavian nobles. You’re gonna get laughed out of the city if that’s your pitch. Donate? Hah!”

“Well, I’ve no other options!” Balthezar snapped, “I can’t buy it. I can’t steal it. I can’t fight for it any longer. What option do I have left except to… to beg for it?”

“There might be a way,” Pequod answered, quietly, winking one of his eyes, “I got a friend inside, you know. You’re not the only reason I came down here.”

Balthezar perked up at this, his eyes widening. He opened his mouth to say something but found that he couldn’t say anything.

“Speechless?” asked Pequod.

“I… You’re buying the property?”

“The Harpers bring light, but we operate from the shadows, Balthezar. We’re always on the lookout for a good safehouse for our agents.”

“Safehouse…” Balthezar repeated, his face falling, “But what about…?”

“The Kobolds?” Pequod asked, rolling his eyes with a smile, “They’re small beans to us. I can confidently state that I don’t care.”

“Well I do!” Balthezar all but screamed, and several eyes turned to stare at the duo. The dragonborn stood and approached the tortle, unsure what he was doing, but sure that he had to do something. “It’s not about me, and it’s not about you. It’s about what’s right. I don’t know who these… Harpers are, or who they’re supposed to be, but if they don’t want to do the right thing, then th-they… they c-can… go to the nine hells for all I care!”

The smile never left Pequod’s face as Balthezar went off on him. As the speech progressed, the smile only grew, angering Balthezar further. Eventually he lost control of himself, reaching forward to snatch a handful of Pequod’s plaid sash and pull the tortle in close.

“What are you smiling for? You… you damnable cheat!” Balthezar cried.

“I’m smiling at you. You never cease to amuse me.”

Balthezar stared daggers into Pequod’s face, but it was a pathetic stare. His eyes were too watery and the grip on the tortle too slight. Pequod reached up to grab the dragonborn’s hand and pry the fingers from his clothes, before he slipped something into his hand and closed it.

“If you really feel that way,” said Pequod, “Why not do something about it?”

“H-huh?” asked Balthezar, pulling his hand away as soon as the tortle let him go. He looked down into his hand and saw a small pin there. It was blue, with an impression of a harp carved into it. His eyes went wide, and he looked back into Pequod’s face. “What is this?”

“Depends on whether or not you say yes to a little deal,” said Pequod, “See, there’s no central hub of Harpers. I don’t know who in town is a Harper and who isn’t. That keeps the rest of us safe. It also means if I want, I can just induct whoever I want into the group. That’s what I’m doing now.”

“You want me… to join you?”

“If nothing else, it’s a paycheck,” said Pequod, “You’re broke. I checked. Join my group, and you’ll get a share of the take, and even get a place to live rent-free. Right now, it’s just me and Hotspur. We could use someone with some heart, and a little extra healing doesn’t hurt.”

Balthezar furrowed his horned brow, frowning down at the Harper pin in his hand. He breathed in deeply and thought hard about this proposition. Was this a deal with a devil? Would becoming a Harper help him to help the kobolds, and help Caliban? He paused for a long time, thinking, before he nodded his head, seeming to come to a decision.

“I… I will…”

“Great! I’ll…”

“On two conditions!” Balthezar interrupted him, his face still as angry as his soft face would allow him to look, “One, Caliban, Puck and I are a team. We’ve been working together ever since that day. I trust them with my life. If I get in, so do they.”

“If they want in, then fine. The more the merrier.”

“And second,” said Balthezar, his voice quieter this time, “If your contact in there buys that property, I want it.”

Pequod laughed, a small, sardonic huff, before he turned his head and glanced at the dragonborn sideways.

“That piece of land is probably worth a few hundred dragons easy, holy man,” he said, “You willing to go that deep into debt with the group right off the bat? That’s the kind of thing ruins a person if they never manage to pay it off.”

Balthezar’s eyes widened. Money again. It always seemed to come down to money. He grimaced, nerves causing him to think twice about this bargain. What did he have to fear from these Harpers? Pequod and Hotspur were both dangerous foes. If there were others like them, he knew he wouldn’t be able to fight them all off. He would be stuck. Trapped in debt to a shadowy organization where anyone at all could be a member. At the same time, this was his last, best option. There was nothing else.

“The debt is on me,” he said, firmly, “Not on the Kobolds. Not on Caliban. On me. If I disappoint you or the organization, you leave them out of it, and you go after me and me alone. Swear on that, and I accept the terms.”

Pequod blinked his eyes, turning his head once again to face the dragonborn head-on. His long neck then began to stretch from his shell, longer than Balthezar expected, and came face-to-face with his green snout. He then felt the tortle reach for the pin in his hand and snatch it away. Balthezar was afraid he had overplayed his hand somehow, and that the tortle was taking back his offer, but then the tortle reached up to fiddle with the collar of the dragonborn’s shirt. He pinned the Harper pin there, underneath the dragonborn’s collar so that it was hidden beneath, all the while never breaking eye contact with Balthezar.

“Balthezar Cloudgazer,” said Pequod, smiling wide, “Welcome to the Harpers.”

“Hey, shellhead!” came the voice of Hotspur coming from the direction of the auction hall, “I got it!”

Balthezar turned and blinked his eyes as he saw a sight he never expected. Hotspur stood tall in a wide, expensive pink silk dress, with her hair up in a tall, complicated braid pattern. She was clean, powdered, and poised. Even her orcish jaw was adorned with black lipstick, and her hands, no doubt rough from swinging around a greataxe, were covered with long, white silk gloves. The dragonborn was astonished to see the half-orc so cleaned up, and let it show with his slack jaw.

“Oh, the dragonborn’s here already,” she muttered, “Give him the deal?”

“Yup,” said Pequod, reaching up to push Balthezar’s mouth closed.

“Figures. We coulda used this,” she said, before she reached into her purse, retrieved a folded piece of paper, and offered it to the green dragonborn, “Don’t spend it all in one place, holy man.”

Surprised, he took the piece of paper, and unfolded it. Immediately, he could tell it was a property deed, signed and notarized, and even already registered in his name. Balthezar Cloudgazer. He stared at the name on the page, and then up at Hotspur, who had retrieved a compact mirror and a handkerchief, and was cleaning a little stray lipstick off one of her pristine, white tusks.

“How… how did you know I was going to…? I only just agreed to…”

“One thing about goody-two-shoes like you, Balthezar?” said Pequod, jabbing an elbow into Balthezar’s side, “Once someone figures out you’re the real deal, you’re real predictable.”

“You planned this.”

“Of course I did! We need someone with a heart, sure, but you need someone with a little gumption. You don’t break the rules. That’s fine. We do.”

At this, Hotspur stepped forward, reaching a gloved hand to him and introducing herself with ladylike courtesey. “My name is Hellena Eagleshield. Lady Hellena Eagleshield in polite society. Hotspur is my professional name. It is a pleasure to meet you formally.”

Balthezar’s wide eyes got even wider as he heard this and, immediately deferential to her apparent rank, took her hand in his own and shook it politely, bowing deeply to her.

“Er. Balthezar Cloudgazer, humble servant of Deneir, your ladyship.”

Hotspur smiled, turning her face to Pequod and saying, in her rough ‘professional’ voice, “Well, at least someone knows how to treat a lady, Pequod. Maybe I could get to like this one after all. As soon as he’s paid my family back for buying up that useless plot of land.”

“Once a greenskin always a greenskin, m’lady,” said Pequod, slinging an arm over her shoulder, “Now come on, I know you’re craving a drink. The orc in you won’t stand for wine for another instant. Let’s get you changed into real clothes and get you some strong ale.”

“Gods, yes!” she muttered, before she hiked up her skirt to begin walking, “Wanna join us, Balthezar?”

“Er… Me?”

“Another time, perhaps,” said Pequod, winking an eye at Hotspur, “I think he has some good news to deliver to the kobolds, and the lizard.”

“Oh, right, the lizard,” Hotspur grunted, lifting a hand to massage one of her shoulders. Even under her dress, she was thickly muscled. “You two ain’t noisy, are you?”

“N-noisy?” Balthezar said, his face beginning to blush, “W-what do you…? I… I mean…”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she snapped, frowning, “Figures. They get the south room, opposite side of the compound from me. I don’t want to know what fucking a lizardman sounds like. Come on, Shellhead.”

“After you!”

Balthezar was speechless, and the sides of his face continued to grow hot as he watched the half-orc woman and the tortle wander off, laughing into the night. He looked down at the piece of paper in his hands. It was really over. He breathed in, smiling, realizing that he had really done it. The Kobolds got to keep their home, and Caliban had a home and security.

And, he thought with some guilt at thinking of himself among all of this, he managed to prove why he was chosen. He nodded his head, intending to write his first letter back home as soon as possible. The others back in Candlekeep would no doubt never believe that Cloudgazer had managed to do something like this, but that didn’t matter. He knew it was true.

All of a sudden, he heard the song of the universe. He smiled, realizing in that moment that Deneir, wherever He was and whatever He was doing, was pleased with this first step in the journey of Balthezar Cloudgazer. To the slow, insistent rhythm of the song, he pocketed the paper, and began the long walk back to the dock ward.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newly formed party of Puck, Hotspur, Pequod, Caliban, and Balthezar move in to their new home base, and must get used to one another before they can operate as a team.

Puck, Caliban, and Balthezar arrived at the ancestral estate of the Eagleshield family precisely one week later. The Kobolds had been sad to see Balthezar go. Most of them had come to regard him as some kind of folk hero for what he did for them. The Green Dragon, they began to call him – nevermind that Green Dragons weren’t known for being heroic or honorable at all. On the day he was set to move out of the warehouse, many of the kobolds complained loudly, hurling insults and curses his way for abandoning them, which Balthezar had since learned to take as a great honor among the tiny draconic creatures. It warmed his heart that they were so sad to see him go, and he promised, over and over again, to visit, and Puck promised to hold him to that. They didn’t have much in the way of a reward to give him, other than trinkets and favors, and, to the furious blush of the dragonborn, an evening on the house in one of those dragonborn bars Puck had described to him.

If he was being honest, Balthezar was glad to leave. He could sense the tension beginning to form between himself and Ssylo – the white dragon, he reminded himself. Chromatics were notoriously territorial, and it seemed that creatures who carried dragon blood were no different. Despite becoming their savior after delivering the deed, Balthezar deferred to Ssylo’s authority at every turn, and for that, Ssylo welcomed him back. As long as Puck was with him and he didn’t stay too long.

Now, however, the three friends were standing at the gates of the Eagleshield residence, gawking at the massive mansion they would be staying in while working with Pequod and the Harpers. Each of them carried a single travel pack containing all of their belongings in the world, and these meager packs seemed like nothing at all in the face of the mansion of Waterdhavian Nobility.

“Puck,” said Balthezar, “You’re sure you’re alright coming with us? It’s not too late to go back to the warren.”

The kobold shook his head, smiling, “Nope! You’re stuck with me, Cloudgazer. Besides, getting in with these Harper guys seems like a good way to raise my stock in this city. Not to mention that’s a hell of a mansion! I don’t mind living there at all!”

“I go where Cloudgazer goes,” said Caliban, picking at the shirt of his suit. He still was not used to wearing clothes, but Puck and Cloudgazer had both told him it would be proper to wear his nice suit to meet lady Hellena. After a pause, he then added, “Will they have meat?”

“I can’t imagine a reason why not, Caliban,” Balthezar said, holding his lover’s hand and smiling.

They hadn’t had much in the way of privacy in the warren since Balthezar had delivered the deed to the warehouse, and every time either of them had attempted to sleep together, some Kobold or other would just sit and watch, killing the mood. It seemed that as grateful as the creatures were, they also had no sense of privacy. Both were excessively pent up, and with a giddy feeling in his stomach, Balthezar was eager to have some time alone with the lizardfolk. If he could read the reptile’s mood correctly, by the way he leaned against his lover and always wanted to have scale-to-scale contact with the dragonborn, he was feeling the same way.

Balthezar soon took the lead, pushing the Eagleshield gate open and stepping into the long path leading to the front door. Caliban followed close behind, and Puck gave the lovers a little space. He liked seeing the two of them clutching together like that and hoped it would last.

Adjusting his clothes with his free hand, Balthezar cleared his throat as if he was about to give a speech and, after one more moment of hesitation, he knocked upon the front door. The three of them waited for another moment, forcing Balthezar to knock a second time. It was then they heard the lock turn over, and the door began to open, answered by a large-nosed human in formal dress.

“Yes?” he said, his nose immediately up in the air, nostrils flaring at this motley crew.

“Good evening,” said Balthezar, bowing, “My name is Balthezar Cloudgazer. This is Caliban, and Puck. We are here to speak to Lady Hellena Eagleshield. Is she in?”

The butler sneered, before he sighed deeply. “Friends of that turtle, I expect.”

“Pequod? Yes, of course. I…”

“Well? Get in,” the butler snapped, “Before you’re seen loitering on m’lord’s lawn.”

“O-oh. Certainly.”

Balthezar entered quickly, followed by his two companions. The three of them were led into the house, through a brief mudroom where servants arrived suddenly to take their packs. Caliban hissed lightly at them, but Balthezar calmed him with a smile and a gentle touch on his shoulder, before he thanked the servants for their trouble. Soon, the butler gestured for them to follow, and they did.

They emerged in the grand foyer of the mansion, and immediately all three were in awe of their surroundings. The Kobold blinked at the light reflecting off of the mirror polish of the gold and silver all around, while Caliban could smell the far-off scent of heavenly cooking. Balthezar, however, kept his eyes glued to the top of the staircase, where he saw Pequod leaning against the railing, flanked by Hotspur. She was wearing wide riding trousers and a brown velvet jacket with a high-necked collar, as well as a brown velveteen hat to match pinned to the black hair stacked atop her head. She smiled down at her guests through her orcish jaw, and began to walk down the stairs, one hand delicately touching the banister as she went.

“Mr. Cloudgazer, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” she said, sounding so much the part of the young daughter of nobility that it was hard to believe this was the same Hotspur that had cleaved a hole in his back about a week before. “And of course, your guests.”

With a practiced grace reserved for greeting halfling and gnomish nobility, she bent down to shake hands with Puck, who was staring at Hotspur with a horrified recognition, as if he had only just realized that the half-orc and this Hellena Eagleshield person were one and the same. Once she turned to Caliban, however, her smile turned to a frown, and before holding out a hand for him to shake, she touched her shoulder gently.

“Dinner will be served momentarily. You are all my guests, of course. Mother and father will be down shortly to join us. My lord grandfather… prefers not to dine with my friends.”

“I-I see,” said Balthezar, before he bowed politely, “Thank you so much, my lady.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, before all at once, she grunted, her posture deflating all at once, “Now, enough of this noble crap. Let’s eat.”

“Lady Hellena!” cried the butler, “What would your lord grandfather think?”

“These folks know Hotspur, not Hellena, Ferdinand,” she said, smirking at her butler and patting him on the shoulder, “Seeing me act this formal for this long was enough for them to get the picture.”

“B-but…!” he began, but he gave another of those deep sighs of his, before he shrugged his shoulders and said, “This way, gentlemen, lady,” before leading them towards a side room.

Hotspur laughed lightly, walking alongside the rest of the group and taking Balthezar by the arm. Caliban, already holding Balthezar’s other hand, growled possessively. She scoffed at the lizard, rolling her eyes, and continued to walk the dragonborn towards the dining room. Pequod followed behind at a close distance, coming to walk beside the kobold.

“What do you want to bet the lizard and orc have a punch-up over Balthezar?” asked Pequod, whispering.

“Her…? She’s not into Cloudgazer, is she?” asked Puck, well and truly confused.

“Not on your life. Balthezar ain’t even remotely her type.”

“Then why…?”

“If I know Hotspur, the one thing she lives for is making trouble. Balthezar’s an orphan, a traveling cleric, unrepentantly bookish, and swings not just for the other team but for an entirely different species. As far as she’s concerned, he’s completely off the menu,” said Pequod, “Now, you know that, and I know that, but Caliban doesn’t know that, does he?”

Puck blinked his eyes and looked back at the trio. The half-orc had pulled close to the dragonborn. He seemed to think little of it, but Caliban had hunched his posture, baring his teeth towards the half-orc. The Kobold frowned.

“He’ll kill her, you know that, right?” said Puck.

“He’ll try,” said Pequod, smiling, “It’s going to be hilarious.”

“But…”

“One dragon on Hotspur,” Pequod said, grabbing a gold coin out of his pack with a sly smile.

Puck stared at the coin in the tortle’s hand. He wanted to warn Caliban not to fall for this bait. Caliban and Balthezar’s relationship was important to him. He was rooting for them to make it work. On the other hand, he knew Caliban had his pride as a hunter and a warrior. He had to have faith in his friend’s ability to win, didn’t he?

“Bet!” Puck whispered, before he rushed to rejoin the trio in the dining room. Pequod, smiling, pocketed his gold coin, and followed the kobold in.

Their places were set out for them already, and soon, the five of them were seated at their places, with Balthezar seated across from Hotspur, Caliban seated next to him, and Puck and Pequod sitting on opposite sides. The two heads of the long dining room table sat empty, although places were set for them. As they sat, a soup was immediately set out for them, the first course. Balthezar, Pequod, and Hotspur all took up their silverware with practiced ease, Puck gripped his spoon awkwardly, and Caliban, unaware of any concept of civility, simply dipped his snout in the soup and began to drink as soon as it was set in front of him.

As the butler cleared his throat, Balthezar frowned, looking from Caliban lapping up the soup to the faintly amused faces of Pequod and Hotspur. The dragonborn put down his spoon and picked up Caliban’s, before he touched the lizardfolk on the shoulder.

“Caliban,” he whispered, “You’re getting soup on your nice shirt. Here.”

“Cloudgazer?” said Caliban, soup dripping down his chin. He reached up and took the spoon awkwardly, holding it in a closed fist, as if it was a dagger. He then began to shovel into his soup, as the others seemed to be doing, and tried to push the spoon past his long, sharp teeth. It was awkward, but he managed to pour the soup into his mouth, one spoonful at a time, seeming impatient as he did. However, he turned to Balthezar, and when he saw the dragonborn’s smile, he endeavored to continue.

“So,” said Hotspur, in-between delicate spoonfuls of soup, “Caliban, yes?”

Only one of Caliban’s eyes rose to meet Hotspur. The other was hyper focused on his spoon, watching it rise to his mouth carefully. Once he had finished the current spoonful, only then did he answer, “What?”

“Funny name. Rather an impolite word, isn’t it?”

“It is what people call me.”

“It means something misshapen and vile, doesn’t it?” she said, smiling, “I wonder why someone so well-versed with words would call you something so unfortunate.”

At this, the table seemed to freeze. Balthezar looked up at Hotspur, his eyes wide. He wasn’t actually familiar with the term.

“Is… is that what that means?” Balthezar stammered.

“Indeed,” she said, “They used to call us Calibans. Half-breeds, you know. Not fit to lick mud from a boot. It’s nice to see the name get some use as a… pet name?”

“Cloudgazer calls me what he likes,” said Caliban, “I don’t care what the words mean.”

“But doesn’t he?”

At this she turned to look into Balthezar’s face. He blinked hard, his mind racing. Was the name Caliban as awful as all that? The lizardfolk had been called that by Waterdhavians looking to insult him, after all. It made sense. An overwhelming guilt soon overtook him.

“Cloudgazer?”

“Er… I apologize. I never knew…”

“He already said he doesn’t care, Balthezar,” said Hotspur, smirking, “Most people would. It’s odd you don’t seem to mind a little lack of feeling in your lovers.”

“Now wait a moment, my lady,” Balthezar snapped, “You can tease me all you like, but please don’t poke fun at Cal… I mean… at… at…”

“Hmmph. One of you feels so deeply, and the other doesn’t care at all. I wonder how long something like that can last.”

Caliban began to hiss, baring his teeth at the half-orc, who laughed hard at the reptile. Balthezar was caught completely off guard by this sudden tease from Hotspur, and he frowned.

“It can last as long as it needs to,” said Balthezar, “And that’s no business of yours.”

“You misunderstand me, I’m not interested out of some vague romantic fancy,” she said, “This is a team first, and a friendship second. I hope you know enough to realize that. If you two have some kind of falling out, and it interferes with our work…”

“Cloudgazer is mine,” said Caliban, suddenly, dropping his spoon in the soup bowl with a splash, and staring with both eyes straight at Hotspur, “And I am Cloudgazer’s.”

“For how long?” she sniped, “Either he tires of your emotionlessness, or you decide to stop pretending to be in love with him, and when that happens, you’re going to have a falling out. If Balthezar breaks it off, Caliban’s going to go into a possessive frenzy, and if Caliban breaks it off, Balthezar will melt into a puddle. If you’re going to live here, neither of those outcomes is particularly ideal.”

“I… I don’t appreciate…” Balthezar stammered, before he fell silent, suddenly filled with doubt. He looked up only when he felt Caliban’s arm wind around his shoulder, pulling the dragonborn into a comforting embrace.

“You are upsetting Cloudgazer.”

“And how would you know, scaleback?” she answered, still daintily eating her soup. She soon finished her bowl and placed her soup spoon back on the table, before wiping her mouth with a napkin and clapping her hands.

All of the bowls were soon taken and replaced by the main course. A sizable, juicy steak was placed down in front of each of them. Caliban was immediately distracted from his fight by the sight of the meat.

“How do you know what the holy man feels?” asked Hotspur, “Are you just pretending? Making a mockery of the softskins for being able to feel things?”

“Stop this!” cried Balthezar, “This is simply none of your business. If you must insist on insulting our… relationship, then I must reconsider the terms of our agreement.”

“Oh, it’s far too late for that, dragonborn,” she said, beginning to slice a small piece from her steak, “You owe me quite a lot of money, remember? Until I say you’ve paid me back, your ass is mine.”

“Is that a threat?” demanded Caliban, followed by a snarl.

“If he tries to walk out before I’ve had my fill of his company, you bet your ass it is,” she said, taking up her steak knife with a strong forehand grip, “What do you want to make of it, lizard?”

Caliban was growling openly, now, and Balthezar was too distracted to try to get him to calm down. All that was going through Caliban’s mind was that she was insulting Cloudgazer. She was threatening Cloudgazer. If she insulted Cloudgazer, she was just meat.

Like a flash, Caliban launched himself over the table, mouth wide and eyes wild. Balthezar began to call his name, but, still with the fresh knowledge of what the word meant, he hesitated long enough for Caliban to make his attack. Hotspur laughed, and brandished her knife, standing up and swiping out with it. The lizardfolk soon tackled the woman to the ground, and the two of them were rolling around, a dangerous frenzy of tooth and blade. Puck stood on his chair at this, calling for Caliban to stop, his bet with Pequod forgotten, and Balthezar stood, mute in horror. Pequod, calm as ever, sat and enjoyed the taste of his steak.

The half-orc and the lizardfolk struck out at one another, leaving bloody bite marks up and down the woman’s neck and chest, while deep stab-wounds were left in the lizardfolk’s scaled skin. Both of them roared, orcish curses and animalistic growls filling the dining hall. The butler was screaming Hotspur’s name.

Soon, however, the room was filled by another scream. All eyes turned to the door, where there was a new figure standing in the doorframe. He was massive, at least seven feet tall, with shoulders and chest that filled out his dinner jacket to bursting. His tusks jut from his mouth even further than the woman’s, and he was completely bald, with bone piercing his nose and ears. He was calling Hotspur’s name, Hellena, and as soon as she heard that, she froze in place. Caliban continued his onslaught, not caring about this new person. However, before he could sink his fangs into her flesh one more time, strong hands wrapped around his waist and pulled her off of the woman. He was soon flung across the room, slamming against the wall. He was on his hands and knees in an instant, intending to launch himself at this new threat, when Balthezar stepped between them, embracing the reptile.

“Caliban!” Balthezar said, finally over the stigma attached to that name, although he still felt dirty saying it. He had no other name to call him. “Stop!”

Caliban slowly calmed himself down, breathing hard and continuing to hiss over Balthezar’s shoulder at the massive Orc who just attacked him.

As all eyes watched, the Orc leaned over and grabbed the half-orc by the scruff of her jacket. She was struggling to touch the floor, and waved her arms, beating against the older Orc’s arm.

“Dad!” she screamed, “Stop! Put me down.”

“Yer bein’ a bitch again,” the Orc said, “Stop it. These’r yer guests. Yer a lady. Act like it.”

With that, he carried her over to her seat and forced her into her chair, as if she was a baby acting up. She struggled for only another moment as the Orc’s meaty hand forced her steak knife, still wet with the lizardfolk’s blood, into her hand.

“Eat!” the booming voice of the orc called out, and she was instantly a sullen child, picking at her food.

The room was perfectly silent as the Orc went to the head of the table. However, he did not sit at the head. He took his seat at the right hand of the head of the table. A steak was placed in front of him. However, he turned his face to stare at Balthezar and Caliban. He then smiled.

“I ‘pologize fer my daughter,” he said, “She’s a right bitch. Don’t know how makin’ friends works.”

Balthezar, realizing who this person was, finally stood, with a firm grip around Caliban’s shoulders. He led Caliban back to his seat, and, with nothing else to do, the lizardfolk began to eat, letting the food calm him. Balthezar, however, stared across the table to the Orc.

“Er… a-are you… Lord Eagleshield?”

“Pfft! No!” the Orc answered, “Name’s Urthgar! Urthgar Eagleshield nee Skullcrusher! I’m the noble lady’s husband. Unfortunately, my wife won’t be joinin’ us this evenin’. Business came up wif gramps… er… I mean, Lord Eagleshield.”

“It’s good to see you, Urthgar,” said Pequod, smiling, “Since your girl is suddenly a bit quiet, may I introduce your guests, Balthezar Cloudgazer, and his friends, Caliban and Puck.”

“Well, right pleased to meet’cha,” said the Orcish gentleman, “I enjoy a spirited brawl as much as the next Orc, but not in the house, eh? ‘Specially not at din-din. Okay?”

Caliban was quiet, and the Orc seemed impatient with the lizardfolk. Balthezar, recognizing the danger, answered for him, “He hears you loud and clear, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“Good!” he answered back, smiling. His tusks made his smile seem a whole mile wide.

“Psst!” Puck whispered to Pequod, “Draw game. No bet.”

“Oh fine,” Pequod answered back, not sparing the Kobold even the slightest of looks.

Urthgar then picked up his knife and stabbed it down into the steak, picking up the entire piece of meat with it and taking a bite out of it with his huge, orcish jaws. It was then that Caliban looked up at the bigger creature. The Orc smiled down at the lizard, who had been trying to clumsily cut his meat with a knife and fork like a gentleman, and an understanding ran between them. Given tacit permission, the lizardfolk simply stabbed the steak with a knife and sank his jaws into it like the Orc had done, and immediately, the Orc and the lizardfolk were fast friend.

Balthezar smiled, his tension leaving him, and he said, “I’m very grateful for your daughter inviting us to stay here, Mr. Eagleshield.”

“Urthgar! Please! We’re friends here.”

“A-alright. Urthgar,” he said, “Er… I’m curious about how you and your, er, wife met.”

The Orc gave a massive belly-laugh, slapping the prodigious muscled gut beneath his dinner jacket as he did. “Annabelle’s got stones! That’s it! She got kidnapped by my tribe years and years back. We was lookin’ fer ransom, y’know? Y’can get a good price for the kids o’ nobles, long as you don’t draw so much attention you catch the eye o’ some adventurer lookin’ to make a name. Trouble was, she was too much woman for anyone in my tribe. She fought back hard, an’ then she got to talkin’ with the guards and got an audience with the elder – my pa – then, she started whippin’ the rest of us into shape. Soon enough, this scrawny little human lady was runnin’ the show, organizin’ raids… How could I not fall for that much woman?”

“Dad…”

“Little missy’s embarrassed cuz’ her parents still love each other.”

“Er…” Balthezar stammered, “That’s a pretty amazing story.”

“Caused a helluva ruckus when she brought me around to court functions, cheeky as you please. Cleaned me up, paraded me around. I felt like a fish in a tank, but I trusted her knowing what she was doin’. It was too late to back out, anyway. She was already knocked up, and we wouldn’t be married for at least a couple more weeks! Hah! We tied the knot just in time.”

“Dad!” Hotspur all but screamed.

“Okay, okay, I’ll shaddup!” Urthgar said, “But only cuz’ your’re my liddle girl an’ I love you lots!”

It was Hotspur’s turn to blush then as she stared down at her steak, but Balthezar noticed just the little hint of a bashful smile upon her lips. Pequod, taking advantage of the lull in conversation, spoke up.

“Balthezar, Caliban, and Puck are going to join our party.”

“Well, that’s great!” the Orc said, “My days are behind me, or else I’d go out with ya’. I gotta hold down the fort here while Annabelle deals with the stiff shirts, but that doesn’t change the fact I taught my little girl how to swing an axe with the best of ‘em. Howsabout you? What do you do?”

“I, er, I’m a cleric,” said Balthezar, “Cali… er… my lizardfolk friend here is an excellent warrior in his own right.”

“I hunt!” called out Puck, before he continued digging into his steak, “I could get used to this, though!”

“I thought the same thing when I first came ‘ere!” Urthgar said, “This’s how the other half lives, eh? So you’re the cleric, then, er, Balthezar, right?”

“That’s right. I follow the guidance of Deneir.”

“Woof! Smart guy,” Urthgar muttered, “I still got a little shrine to Gruumsh upstairs. Y’know, not nothin’ serious or nothin’, just keeping some ole’ traditions alive. No pillaging for me no more, I promise.”

“Er… that’s good.”

“Jest sayin’ so cuz’ you holy types like to accuse me o’ stuff sometimes.”

“I assure you, I wouldn’t!” said Balthezar.

“Cloudgazer’s been pretty friendly,” said Puck, “All the Kobolds back at the warren got to love him. He’s a hero!”

“An’ how close are you to worshipping Kurtulmak? Or Tiamat, for that matter.”

“Not at all! I’m done with the Gods. Tiamat cultists gave me and my brother big trouble! I ain’t going down that rabbit hole again,” said Puck, “Kurtulmak, though? A few of the old timers still pray for him to escape.”

“That… wouldn’t be good,” Balthezar said, quietly.

“It wouldn’t be good for big people, no,” said Puck, “It’d be pretty amazing for Kobolds, though. He’d probably just wipe away all the big races and leave nothing but Kobolds behind… but nah. That wouldn’t be nice. I like you all too much.”

“Well, thank you, Puck. I, uh, appreciate that.”

Puck smiled at Balthezar, before he picked up his empty plate and began to lick it clean of the sauce they had used to season the steak. With a clap of Hotspur’s hands, the plate was taken from him, and he complained for only another moment, before a new plate was placed down in front of him, containing a beautiful, square slice of strawberry cake.

At around this time, Hotspur seemed to be regaining her composure, and as she sank her dessert fork into her cake, she said, quietly, “I apologize for insulting you earlier, Balthezar.”

Balthezar was taken off guard by the sudden apology, and he wasn’t sure how to respond. Eventually, he too dug into his slice of cake and answered, “I… I accept your apology. I hope this doesn’t hang over us.”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t,” she said, “And sorry to you too, Caliban. I shouldn’t have provoked you like that. I am simply still annoyed at you two besting me twice. It won’t happen again.”

Balthezar wasn’t quite sure whether she meant she wouldn’t insult them again or if she meant she would not be bested a third time.

Caliban was busy sniffing the cake, unsure if the tiny slice of sweet-smelling bread was even food. As he did, he answered, “It’s alright. You tasted good.”

She raised her head to stare, wide-eyed at Caliban, who didn’t seem to think he had said anything at all odd as he picked up the cake with his fingers and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth at once, chewing it thoughtfully. Urthgar laughed hard, and even Balthezar felt his face crack into a little smile. It seemed the tension was gone from the room completely at that point, and Balthezar was glad for that.

\--

As evening drifted into night, Urthgar insisted upon opening up a cask with his daughter’s new friends, but Hotspur refused to allow it, instead suggesting everyone take the evening to get used to their new digs. Pequod, confident the show was over, retired first, followed soon after by Puck, who asked for a room with no windows so he could make it as dark as he needed to sleep. Finally, Caliban pulled urgently upon Balthezar’s arm, and the dragonborn could sense that the lizardfolk wanted to go to bed. The dragonborn excused himself, and together, the two of them walked up the stairs and to the so-called south room.

Immediately, both of them were shocked by the riches on display here. It was a simple guest room, by the standards of this house, but considering the inn they had been sleeping in beforehand, and the spare room afforded to them by the Kobolds days before, this was an extravagant luxury. The bed was huge, with a plush mattress and bedcurtains, and there was a lot of drawers and cabinets, where their things could be stored away. Candles and oil lamps had already been lit for them. Balthezar stepped in first, moving towards one of the dressers, and Caliban entered after, beginning at once to sniff around the perimeter of the room, inspecting it. As soon as he seemed satisfied that the room was safe, he began to clumsily unbutton his shirt, eager to make himself comfortable. His claws made it awkward, and he growled a little bit, but soon after he saw the dragonborn’s emerald hands take his buttons in hand.

“Let me help,” said Balthezar.

“Not used to clothes,” Caliban muttered, “Thank you.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” said Balthezar, “My pleasure, in fact. We should… talk.”

“Talk?”

At this point, Balthezar had undone the buttons of the Lizardfolk’s slightly blood- and soup-stained shirt and vest, and the lizard, with self-conscious care, extricated himself from them and laid them down on the back of a chair. As Balthezar spoke, he waved his hands over the holes, one by one, and the fabric seemed to sew itself back together of its own accord.

“About your name.”

“I told you. I have no name.”

“And I understand that, of course,” said Balthezar, pulling his hand away from the repaired clothes before he began to remove his own wide-sleeved shirt and walked over to the dresser. He found coat hangers there and smiled at the opportunity to actually hang up his clothes for once. “It’s just that Caliban is apparently somewhat insulting to you, and to the lady of the house.”

“It is just a word.”

“Words have meaning,” Balthezar said, quietly, “I know. Names and insults have a certain power to them.”

“What do you want to call me?”

“I…” Balthezar began, before he turned and stared at the lizardfolk. He shrugged and smiled, before shaking his head. “I don’t know. I’m so used to Caliban now, calling you anything else would be strange.”

“If that is what Cloudgazer calls me, that is fine.”

“Still. Perhaps it’s something we should think about,” said Balthezar. He walked forward, pulling his undershirt up over his head and tossing it upon the chair to join the pile of Caliban’s clothes, before he placed his hands upon his lover’s chest and inspected the wounds left by Hotspur’s skill with that steak knife. He frowned, humming a harmony with the universe, and a faint glow caused the lizardfolk’s wounds to close. “Did you ever think about attempting to return to your tribe, to try to reclaim your old name?”

The Lizardfolk’s head bowed slightly in thought. “It is not possible.”

“I suppose I don’t understand how it works,” said Balthezar, “I apologize for presuming too much.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” answered Caliban, “It is in the past.”

At this point, he reached down to unsnap the small strap holding his trousers up over his meaty tail. Suddenly unsupported, his trousers sank to the floor and he stepped out of them. Balthezar, smiling in lust and nerves, unbuttoned his own trousers and let them fall. Caliban stared up and down his body once again, reaching forward possessively to stroke along the dragonborn’s soft scales, before he pulled him into an embrace.

“We are finally alone,” Caliban said, voice heavy and low, and the sound of it made the dragonborn’s back shiver.

\--

Hellena Eagleshield, her shoulders and chest still sore from the bitemarks from that lizardfolk, wandered the garden behind the estate, slowly. She heard the cries of the animals being treated by her father from the cages nearby and wondered what he had managed to bring home this time. She sighed. These new additions to the party were already going to be a handful, as if Pequod wasn’t already too much. She frowned as she approached the cages, intending to take in a little night air before going off to bed.

“Hey,” she heard, suddenly, a high-pitched voice.

“Kobold,” she muttered.

“Half-orc,” Puck answered, smiling as he wandered towards her from the house, “Nice garden. I heard animals out back. Decided to check it out.”

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“Cloudgazer taught me a good word,” said Puck, thinking hard to remember it, “Nocturnal. That’s me. I like to come out at night. What’s your excuse?”

“I was simply thinking.”

“About us, right?”

She grimaced, her jaw jutting out even further than it already did, before she turned and continued towards the cages.

“My family is in the feed and tack business,” she explained, “As well as veterinary work. Father took that to mean he should bring home every sick animal he comes across. Mother gave up trying to get him to stop years ago.”

As she said that, she had approached a large, caged in area, where Puck could see eyes staring back at him from beyond the bars. Even with his superior dark vision, he could barely see the panther staring back at him, sizing the tiny creature up as a meal. He turned towards another habitat cage and saw a few wolves sleeping together in a pile, one of them missing a leg, with a large stitch at its shoulder. In another cage with a recessed pool inside, a gigantic creature with a red shell was lounging, half-submerged in the water.

“Gee,” was all Puck could say as he took in the sight of these dangerous creatures. He was familiar with all of them, but one stuck out in particular, “Where’d he find a giant crab? Those ain’t native.”

“Poachers selling exotic creatures as pets,” explained Hotspur, “No idea who would want a giant crab as a pet, but here we are, and nowhere to put it.”

“I dunno, he’s kinda cute,” said Puck, smiling into the cage where the crab was blowing bubbles in the water.

“You want him?” Hotspur said with a scoff, “He’s yours. I swear, Dad’s going to drive us to bankruptcy feeding all the strays he brings home.”

Puck looked up at her, and then looked at the crab. He smiled, his mind turning, and he made a little mental note to come back later. However, he had come down here for a reason, not to make friends with a crab.

“Hey, Hotspur,” he said, “Can we talk?”

“We are talking, aren’t we?”

“I mean about Caliban and Cloudgazer.”

She was silent at this for a moment, before she shrugged her shoulders.

“I said I was sorry.”

“I know you did,” said Puck, “But you don’t know them like I do yet. Cloudgazer’s got it bad for Caliban, you know that, right?”

“I… I kind of figured it was something like that.”

“And Caliban, in his own way, he’s got it bad for Balthezar. It’s a weird arrangement. They love each other, but it ain’t in quite the same way. They don’t quite fit together, but they’re trying to make it work.”

“Yeah? So?”

“So, I’ve been trying to help it along a bit,” said Puck, “Your turtle friend got me to hold my snout at dinner, but that was a mistake. They don’t need you making Balthezar doubt himself. You know as well as I do, he’s the kind who might screw everything up thinking he’s doing the right thing, you know?”

“What do you…?”

“Think about it. You go around telling him Caliban don’t love him. Maybe he starts thinking Caliban’d be better off if they weren’t together. That’s wrong, but he might start thinking it. So he leaves, and Caliban won’t understand. He sees their relationship in black and white. He wants it to work, so it will work. Balthezar’s got shades of grey in him, like most big people, so he doesn’t really understand Caliban either. If he suddenly decides it won’t work, it’ll hurt both of them.”

“What do you care, Kobold? It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“Sure it does!” said Puck, “They’re pack. They’re family! Whether or not Ssylo likes it, they’re part of my warren now. I’m all about teamwork, and working to better the whole, because otherwise we get separated and eaten. I don’t want to get eaten, and I don’t want any of you slobs to get eaten neither. That’s why I want you to lay off Cloudgazer and Caliban, okay? It’s gonna be hard enough for them down the road without you chiming in.”

Hotspur frowned, then, crossing her arms, before she turned away without a word and began to walk off. Puck hesitated for a moment, before he followed her.

“You get what I’m saying, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, “I’m just… thinking.”

“Thinking?”

“About the society bitches who said awful things about mother and father behind their backs because Mom married an Orc,” she said, “About the things my grandfather says to Dad when he’s in his cups.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what that feels like,” said Puck, “You’re all crazy for doin’ it outside your species as far as I’m concerned, but I like you all, so I ain’t gonna judge.”

“All? You like me too?” asked Hotspur, smirking over her shoulder.

“So far, no,” he answered, “But you gave me a free crab. That’s either going to be a friend for life or the best dinner we ever had. I can see letting you join the warren, eventually. Pequod too, maybe.”

“I see.”

“Your Dad’s already in, though. He’s great.”

“I know he is,” she said, smiling, before she continued to walk, “I’m going to bed, Puck. G’night. Don’t bother the animals too much.”

“I won’t!” he answered, rushing back towards the cages, “Night!”

Hotspur couldn’t help but smile wider as she watched the Kobold rush off into the night. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders, before she began to walk back towards the house. It would be a big day tomorrow, trying to wrangle this team into fighting shape, but for the first time, she thought perhaps it could be done after all, as much as she hated to admit that Pequod was right about something.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new day, a new assignment. A murder of a kobold gives them the clues they need to continue their pursuit of the cult.

“Where the hell are they?” asked Hotspur, brow furrowed. “Honestly! This is the best you could get, shellhead?

“They’ll be here. It’s their first day. Let them sleep in,” said the Tortle, sitting upon the grass of the garden, “The kobold only went to bed about an hour ago. It’s just gonna be the lovers.”

“Ugh. Don’t call them that,” muttered Hotspur.

The two of them were dressed for battle. The half-orc was wearing her worn armor and had her greataxe slung over her shoulder. The tortle noodled on his bagpipes as he waited, bobbing his head to the hollow sound of blowing notes on the flute without inflating the bag. He stopped playing a moment later, folding up the pipes with a sudden movement, and stood with a spry movement more suited to a creature far less bulky than he was.

“This job of yours,” said Hotspur, “What’s it all about anyway?”

“A follow-up on the last one,” he said, smiling, “Half-dragons in the city made someone sit up and take notice. Everyone thought the Cult of Tiamat was wiped out, but there might be some stragglers after all.”

“So, dragon hunting?”

“Hah! Us? Nah. The big ones are still above our paygrade,” he said, “Even the half-breeds are a little over our heads. It took six of us to take out one before, using pretty much everything we had, and if we were a little slower, Puck and Caliban’d be dead meat. If we fight any more of those guys, we need a little more of a plan than hitting him until he goes down.”

“What do your contacts know?” asked the gentle voice of Balthezar Cloudgazer as he and Caliban walked up the path. The lizardfolk was fiddling with the collar with the purple gem around his neck.

Pequod smiled and turned towards the dragonborn and lizardman. Balthezar was approaching, clutching his holy symbol with clear nerves. Hotspur scowled at the pair.

“You’re late,” she said.

“I apologize,” he answered, “It’s my fault. I was masking the magic of Caliban’s collar. I didn’t want him to get arrested for possession of an illegal item.”

“Masking?” asked Pequod, his smile faltering, “You copied the spell they cast on those crates?”

“Is that strange?” asked Balthezar, “I was divinely inspired to learn the spell, but I was familiar with the mechanics of it from beforehand. I’m starting to get the hang of Deneir’s inspirations. I have gaps in my knowledge of magic. The more I learn, the more I realize where the gaps lie, and where Deneir is filling things in.”

“Impressive. Dominion over magic itself seems useful.”

“Er… yes. It’s not as versatile as all that. I’ve no more or less power over magic than other clerics. I simply have more of an understanding of the underlying mechanics…”

“Yeah, yeah, blah blah blah!” Hotspur said, tilting her face up to groan into the air, “Can we get down to business?”

“Oh, I agree!” Balthezar said, “What is this about the half-dragons?”

“More reports of them appearing throughout the city. Nothing as explosive as Forath, or anything, but there’s been some incidents. Mostly buyers of those magic items we seized. Harper agents showed up to follow up on them, and a lot of the buyers have either turned up dead, or disappeared, with a lot of the same patterns as Forath – pretending to be a longer-lived race, and talked a big game about living in Waterdeep, but only operated for a couple years.”

“So, other Half-dragons in disguise,” muttered Balthezar.

“What are those things anyway?” demanded Hotspur, “You see to know something.”

“Not much,” said Balthezar, “There are arcane rituals one can perform to transform oneself into a half-dragon, but they can occur in the wild as well. The union of a polymorphed dragon and any other type of creature can produce a half-dragon. Cultists of Tiamat seek out the children of Chromatics and other races and sought to transform themselves as well to become closer to their terrible queen. I know some about the process, but not the significance behind it beyond that. The religious part of it is not my strong suit.”

“You’re a cleric, but you don’t know about matters of the Gods?”

“W-well, I wasn’t raised to mind the Gods any more or less than normal,” he said, defensively, “I worshipped books and knowledge more than I worshipped any Gods. It just so happened that Deneir… liked that about me.”

“So you’re not going to be able to tell us what they’re after.”

“Well, the obvious answer,” answered Balthezar, “Is they want to reincarnate Tiamat. I would have to do some research to know more than that. Shall I visit the temple of Deneir?”

“Later,” said Pequod, “We got work now. The Harpers sent a paper bird this morning with a lead. There’s been a murder. Gristly stuff, but something we should look into. I think it’s got something to do with us.”

“M-murder?” muttered Balthezar, already uncomfortable. Sensing his discomfort, Caliban approached behind him and rested his chin upon the dragonborn’s shoulder, draping his entire body over his lover, absorbing his body heat with a satisfied churr. Balthezar felt better, although he stared hard at Pequod.

“I don’t know much more than that,” said Pequod, “A bar downtown found the body in the alley. No idea who or even what race the victim is. The bird was pretty short.”

“It was Gruk,” another voice said, small and high-pitched, and filled with a barely concealed rage.

All eyes turned to see that Puck was approaching, his swords crossed behind his back. His expression was dour, and his eyes wide. Anger and sorrow fought for dominance on the tiny creature’s face.

“Puck?” asked Balthezar, “I thought you were in bed.”

“Got a message from Ssylo,” said Puck, holding up a piece of paper that had been folded up tightly, “Paper bird. He knows more than the Harpers. Gruk didn’t come back after last night. It was his body in the alley.”

“Gruk? Did I meet…?” asked Balthezar.

“He works at a dragonborn bar,” Puck explained, “He’s the one who offered you a good time for free for helping us.”

Balthezar found himself blushing as he remembered. He then frowned. He did remember little Gruk, as much as the faces of the little red dragonlings ran together in his head. The outrageous suggestion made him remember quite vividly.

“He’s… dead?”

Puck walked past his four team-mates. He was squinting in the sunlight, but he didn’t care. He was walking towards the cages towards the back of the garden. Balthezar saw that his eyes were sunken in. He was tired, his nocturnal nature challenged by being up this early.

“Puck?”

“You guys go on ahead,” he said, “I’m gonna finish here and catch up later.”

Balthezar wanted to ask something about Gruk, to ask if Puck knew him well, but he realized he already knew the answer. All of the kobolds in that warren knew each other. It was a small world in that warren, and Puck had just lost a member of his family. Balthezar fell silent, reaching up to caress Caliban’s face still resting on his shoulder.

“Alright,” said Pequod, “Don’t push yourself too hard, Kobold.”

“I won’t,” he muttered, “Don’t worry.”

With that, Pequod turned to leave the Kobold to his business. The rest watched him walk towards the animal pens and, wordlessly, he opened the cage to the aquatic habitat, slipping inside.

\--

The alley behind the Silver Scale was a bloodbath. As Balthezar, Caliban, Pequod, and Hotspur arrived, they saw city watch all over, taking statements and asking what everyone witnessed. At this time of the morning most of the Kobolds had cleared away, leaving only the dragonborn who seemed to operate the place. A blue-scaled fellow in formal-wear was standing at the entrance of the alley, speaking to two watchmen while choking back a cascade of tears, while not far away, a copper female was leaning against the wall of their bar, face in her hands, trying not to look at the carnage behind her bar.

Balthezar could see the hints of blood staining the alley, and the sight made him go pale. It wasn’t just a murder, it was an act of savagery. He didn’t want to go inspect the body, but he knew he had to.

“You the team we got word was coming?” asked a gruff-looking human in uniform, squinting in perpetual suspicion.

Pequod immediately took the lead, stepping forward and smiling at the officer, “My name is Pequod, and these are my associates, Hotspur, Balthezar, and Caliban. We got word of the murder. What happened?”

The human clicked his tongue, before shrugging his shoulders. “Dead kobold. The owners say they found him behind the bar this morning when they were closing. One of those nocturnal establishments, y’know? Sickos, the lot of ‘em.”

Balthezar was immediately uncomfortable with this man’s words and couldn’t help showing it on his face. The rest remained impassive.

“What can you tell us about this kobold?” asked Pequod.

“I dunno! He worked at the bar, that’s all we can get out of softie over there,” he said, jerking his head towards the sobbing blue dragonborn, “The body’s mostly meat at this point anyway. Literally.”

“L-literally?” asked Balthezar, morbidly curious.

“Whoever it was?” the guard said, with a disgusted sneer, “Ate the body. Only partially, too. He couldn’t have weighed more than ten pounds soaking wet, he could have carried the body somewhere before eating him, but no! He had to give us more work to deal with, but what do I know about murdering people?”

“Gods…” muttered Balthezar.

“Can we see the body?” asked Hotspur.

“Sure. We’re done here anyway,” he said, “The owner and her husband don’t know nothing. If you need my men for anything we’re here. Just… don’t go full adventurer on this, please? I’m trying to keep the peace.”

“No sir! We’ll keep that in mind,” said Pequod, before he bowed his head and began to walk towards the alley. His party followed closely behind.

As they approached the alley, the smell of fresh corpse intensified, mixing with the odor of garbage. Balthezar’s nerves increased.

“You think you got it in you to check out the body, Balthezar?” asked Pequod, “I’m better with talking.”

“O-oh! S-sure,” he said, hoping that he wasn’t lying, “Caliban, could you come with me? Don’t touch anything, but… I’d like you to be there.”

“Yes, Cloudgazer.”

With that, the two of them entered the alley while Hotspur and Pequod began to speak to the two dragonborn. The hustle and bustle of the city seemed to slow down as they walked into the darkened alley, and Balthezar cast light upon his holy symbol as he went, to illuminate the scene. He immediately wished he hadn’t.

At once, he saw Gruk’s body, lying in the center of the alley. The kobold had been savaged, as if by a wild animal. His leg had been torn off, and he was missing fingers from one of his hands, and, as the guard had said, massive bite-marks had been chewed out of the kobold’s midsection. Caliban stayed back, waiting for Balthezar to give him the word, and the dragonborn slowly, carefully moved forward. He had heard of clerics being able to call back the souls of the dead to speak with their remnants, but he knew that magic was beyond him at this point. Instead, he made do simply inspecting the body.

Loss of blood was his most likely cause of death, considering how much the walls around them were painted with red. He wondered if the creature had been alive when the murderer had begun to feast, and the thought made him utterly uncomfortable. It also caused him to think. Whatever had done this had an imposing set of teeth on it. Swallowing his fear, he leaned forward, inspecting the impression of the bite. It was in a long, crescent shape, like the mouth of a dragonborn or a lizardfolk… or a half-dragon. He reached up to touch his own teeth, feeling which ones were sharp and which were blunt. He couldn’t imagine managing to rip a chunk of flesh out of a person with just his teeth. Caliban might have been able to do it, but his teeth were razor-sharp and needle-thin at the tips, and the bite would have reflected that. It had to be something with a draconic jaw. A dragonborn would have to be absurdly strong, and another Kobold was completely out of the question. That left a half-dragon.

“I smell something,” said Caliban, “Something burned.”

Balthezar turned to see Caliban, blinking his eyes, before he breathed in and nodded. “Come over here, Caliban. Tell me.”

The lizardfolk walked forward, sniffing all the way. He came so close to the kobold’s corpse without any apparent discomfort, making Balthezar grimace.

“Strong, hissing liquid.”

“Hissing…? You mean acid?” asked Balthezar.

“Yes. In the bite.”

Balthezar’s eyes went wide. Acid! If it was a half-dragon, then it must have been one who would have an acidic breath weapon. Copper or Black would be his guesses, and if they were truly dealing with the cult of Tiamat, they were likely looking for a Chromatic, so black would be the only explanation.

He stood from his crouch and began to walk away from the body, and Caliban stood to follow. Soon, the two of them emerged from the alley and saw Pequod, the blue dragonborn with tears streaming down his cheeks as he lay limp in the tortle’s arms, sobbing.

“There there,” the tortle said, before turning towards the female, “Anything at all you can tell me about Gruk.”

“He didn’t have any enemies I knew of,” the female said. She had long, swept-back horns, and her voice was deep and with a slight rasp to it. “Gruk was a sweetheart. All the customers loved him.”

“Any customers in particular get especially odd around him? Maybe someone get a little too possessive?”

She shook her head, and by her strong frame, Balthezar could tell she was the bouncer as well as the owner. “I don’t take none of that here. Anyone takes advantage of my sweets they get tossed out. No tolerance policy. One strike and you’re done. I just… couldn’t imagine anyone would…”

“G-gruk was the best,” the blue dragonborn said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve and managing to remain coherent, “I… I’d sent him up to spend the evening with one of our regulars, y’know? There was no problem! I… I never…”

“What happened after that?”

“H-he didn’t come down,” said the blue dragonborn, straightening up, and finally calming down, “I thought he and Mr. Penshkaatzi were having a good time and spent the night together, but… but when I went up to check, the room was vacated. I didn’t think to ask anyone if they saw Gruk come down. I never imagined…”

“It wasn’t your fault Kal,” the copper growled, and he immediately straightened himself up and wiped his eyes, “Calm yourself.”

“Y-yes Stelka,” he muttered, sniffing hard.

“Um…” Balthezar began, and all eyes turned towards him. He froze, unsure of what to say.

“Ah, yes. This is my associate, Balthezar,” said Pequod, “Did your inspection go as planned?”

“Er… yes,” the dragonborn said, “I-I’m very sorry for your loss.”

The blue dragonborn melted into a puddle once again, draping himself over Pequod’s shell and sobbing over the waxed finish. Pequod reached up to pat him on the back. The Copper simply stared at the Green with hard eyes.

“I… I have a question, though,” Balthezar continued.

“Yes?”

“Mr… Mr. Penshkaatzi, was it? What… what color is he?”

Stelka stared at the green dragonborn for another moment, before she spoke up, “Black. We never had any trouble with him before though. Chromatic and Metallic mean nothing here.”

“I understand that, believe me,” said Balthezar. He considered asking more, but decided it was too much for these two to bear, “Thank you for telling me.”

With that, Hotspur walked over to Kal and gently lifted him up off of Pequod’s shell, before leading him away from the alley. Stelka stayed behind, watching her husband get led off, before she turned back towards the green dragonborn.

“Not a dragonborn name, Balthezar,” she said, “Ain’t never seen you around before. I thought I knew everyone in town. Funny accent, too.”

“Er… I’ve only been here for a few weeks,” said Balthezar, his back going rigid, “And I… I wasn’t raised by other dragonborn, um, I grew up in Candlekeep.”

“That library near Baldur’s Gate?”

“That’s the one,” he said.

“You must be that ‘Green Dragon’ all the kobolds who come in won’t shut up about,” she said, with a smile, “You got a lot of admirers, Balthezar.”

His face took on a deep green blush. He stammered, unable to form any words, settling finally on, “Th-the kobolds and I are friends, yes.”

“Well,” she said, gently, before she clapped her hands on both of Balthezar’s shoulders, “Welcome to Waterdeep, Balthezar. I wish we could have met under better circumstances. If you need anything around town, come on up to the bar. We know what it’s like being new in town.”

“O-oh. Well. I appreciate it. I’m… not interested in any of the, er, things that happen here, but…”

She laughed, and Balthezar was startled by the noise. “Don’t worry about that. I won’t make you do nothing you ain’t comfortable with. Just a drink is fine. I pay them better than they get sweeping chimneys and cleaning sewer ducts, and if they wanna retire, we part amicably. I try to make sure nobody gets hurt, too.”

At this point, she reached down into her shirt, and withdrew a platinum icon hung around her neck by a chain. It was the image of a noble dragon, and Balthezar recognized it immediately.

“Bahamut?”

“You got your God, I got mine,” she said, reaching forward to tweak the holy symbol around Balthezar’s neck, “Yours is a little less common, though. Bahamut likes having lots of followers doing his bidding. Seems Deneir only chooses one in a blue moon.”

“Bahamut approves of…?”

“Well, not necessarily, but…” she muttered, looking down at the holy symbol, “It’s better than the alternative. Kobolds have been under the thumb of Tiamat for eons. Maybe part of that is because metallics never had it in them to give them a place in this world to live and thrive. It’s dirty work here, but it’s a living, and they’re good at it. I feel this is the best I can do to help them. It’s silly, but…”

“No! I completely understand!” Balthezar said, his smile appearing.

“I think you and I will get along just fine then,” she said, before her face grew hard, “But… get the son of a bitch who did this to one of my sweets. You understand, Balthezar?”

“Y-yes ma’am.”

“Good,” she said, nodding her head. She turned without another word and left them. Pequod looked from the lady dragonborn to Balthezar and seemed impressed.

“For an awkward nerd, you sure know how to make friends,” said Pequod, “Well done.”

“Any follower of the Platinum Dragon is to be respected. I’m just glad the respect seems mutual.”

“You and Caliban should go for that drink sometime. It’ll be your reward for solving this case,” the Tortle said, “What’d you find? Is this Penshkaatzi guy the bastard?”

“I’m… I’m not sure. Caliban smelled something acidic on the wound, and the bite was too strong to be from any other draconic humanoid. It must be a half-dragon, and I would guess his color to be black.”

“That narrows it down.”

“The only trouble is that Mr. Penshkaatzi is a dragonborn, not a half-dragon. Why…?”

“We saw one of them disguise himself as an elf. Pretending to be a dragonborn isn’t out of the question. Probably easier too,” said Pequod, “And it makes sense. These are Tiamat freaks. Making a mockery of a business aligned with Bahamut probably appeals to them.”

“Still, it can’t be a coincidence. We broke up that magic weapon operation, and now this?”

“As far as they’re concerned, Kobolds are pawns,” said Pequod, turning to look down the alley, “This could be a message, either for us or for Ssylo. They’re coming for the warren.”

“I… I thought it would be over,” muttered Balthezar, “I thought they would be safe.”

“Nobody’s ever safe,” said Pequod, walking off towards where Hotspur took the sobbing blue dragonborn, “They just ain’t realized where the danger’s coming from yet.”

With those final words in his ears, Balthezar grimaced. That old doubt was resurfacing. He had made things worse once again, and now someone was dead. He sighed, looking one last time towards the alley. The undertaker would arrive soon, he hoped, and he clasped his hands together in prayer. He prayed that Gruk had a safe journey across the veil and vowed to find whoever did this and to bring them to justice.

\--

“Penshkaatzi is a businessman,” explained Hotspur as they walked down the street, towards one of the higher-class apartment buildings which had been erected within the past few years, “Works with Mother, sometimes. He sells exotic bits and bridles in from Tymanther, and his stock is high quality enough to supply the Eagleshields.”

The four of them walked on, through the neighborhood which was quickly transitioning between the rough and tumble dock ward to the middle-class ostentatiousness of the Trades ward. Hotspur sneered at the edifices of the nouveau riche all around her, but Pequod admired them, smiling up at the tall, modern brownstone buildings.

“He dangerous at all?” said the tortle.

“Not that I know of. He’s older – maybe fifty years old? Never married either. Certainly the kind who would have frequented a place like that.”

“He sounds lonely,” muttered Balthezar, “I wonder why he would have…”

“Don’t forget. We’re not looking for a dragonborn. It’s possible Penshkaatzi was an act this whole time,” said Pequod, “Hey, Caliban.”

Acknowledged, the lizardfolk looked up from his usual hunched posture and swiveling eyes to focus both upon the tortle. He tilted his head.

“Tortoise wants something?”

“You speak draconic. There’s some dragon in you, however little. Did your people ever have run-ins with the cult of Tiamat?”

Caliban thought for a moment as all three pairs of eyes looked towards him. He scratched his neck a little, feeling an itch there, before he answered, “Dragon cultists came once. Took people. The rest of us fought back. Other tribes were not so lucky.”

“Took them?”

Caliban shrugged. “They were gone. Some came back with stories that heroes vanquished the cult and freed them. Others never came back at all.”

“The cult used lizardfolk as fodder in the big conflict,” said Pequod, “Some were coerced. Some joined up willingly. Kobolds saw a lot of use too. I’m sure Puck told you all about that.”

“Some,” said Balthezar, “His brother was going to be… sacrificed or something.”

“Draconic sorcery is holy to Tiamat,” said Pequod, “And reptilian creatures like Lizards and kobolds… and dragonborn… are subservient to Her will.”

“What about you?” asked Balthezar, “Did you ever…?”

“Nah. They never came to Chult.”

“Chult?”

Hotspur smiled, and said, “Our bonny boy’s homeland.”

Pequod grimaced, rolling his eyes, “I grew up on the Snout of Omgar. Not as nice as here, I promise you. I wouldn’t call it a homeland. Ahoyhoy is mostly where old timers go to die when it’s time to lay some eggs. No thanks.”

“Is that why you left?”

“Oh no,” Pequod said, his smile returning, “I left because they kicked me out. Buy me a drink some night and maybe I’ll feel like telling the story. In the meantime…”

He turned sharply away from Balthezar’s inquisitive gaze and extended his arms towards one of the buildings. It was taller than the rest, three stories, with attractive brick façade and stone stoop. Hotspur, unimpressed, climbed the stairs into the lobby, and the other three followed behind.

The first floor was taken up by a small room with a desk on one side and a flight of stairs on the other. A bored human sat at the desk, reading a book. He ignored the four colorful figures who entered except to say, “What do you want?”

“Here to see a Mr. Penshkaatzi, my good man,” said Pequod, immediately turning on the charm.

The man looked up, seeing finally the crew that was assembled – a shellhead, a greenskin, and a a couple of scalebacks. He blinked his eyes and sat up.

“Does he know you’re coming?”

“No, but feel free to go up and tell him,” said Pequod, “Despite our dangerous looks, we mean him no harm. We merely want to ask him some questions.”

“A-about what?”

“About a murder, of course,” Pequod said, “You don’t want to get in the way of a murder investigation, do you? Especially if you don’t want to find yourself a subject of our… investigation?”

The man’s face went white, as did Balthezar’s. Pequod’s entire bearing had changed in two seconds, and Balthezar truly believed in that moment that he was willing to charge this man with the murder of that kobold. The man stood, raising his hands and said, “Listen, I don’t want any trouble! Just… just go up and knock. Third floor flat. He should be home. I ain’t seen him leave since yesterday.”

“Yesterday? But…” however, before Balthezar could continue he felt the tortle’s elbow in his ribs, and he flinched at the pain.

“Thank you, good sir. Your cooperation will not go unremembered,” said Pequod, before he turned and lead his party up the stairs. Hotspur followed at once, but Balthezar and therefore Caliban both hesitated, before they too rushed to follow them up.

“He didn’t do anything,” Balthezar said, quietly, “You didn’t have to threaten the man.”

“Be a team player, Balthezar,” said Hotspur, “It’s what this scoundrel does.”

“Many bards work in music, paint, words, stories…” Pequod said, waving his arms artistically, before his voice fell and he turned to look at Balthezar with malice in his smile, “I work in fear.”

“F-fear?”

“Don’t get weird on us now, holy man,” said Pequod, “I’m on the side of the angels. The angels need all the help they can get, even from the shadows.”

“S-still, that seems…”

“Unnecessary?” Pequod interrupted, “Perhaps. Maybe I could have cast a charm, or you could have given him a magical command, or Hotspur or Caliban could have held an axe or teeth to his neck. This was less extreme, and quite effective. Just a little pressure in the right spot with the right tool, and people open wide for you. Fear just happens to be the tool I am best with, like your God, Hotspur’s axe, or Caliban’s teeth.”

Balthezar’s eyes were wide, but he breathed deep and centered himself. This was what being an adventurer was, wasn’t it? Being open to others’ methods. It was like a follower of Bahamut operating a brothel with compassion and grace. The method was questionable, but the intentions are pure, and that makes all the difference.

Soon, three flights of stairs were behind them, and they found themselves on the top floor. There was only a single door on this floor, labeled ‘301.’ Caliban, sensing an attack might be imminent, took a position near the door but out of sight, while Hotspur mirrored him on the opposite side. Balthezar was confused by this, but Pequod didn’t mind the precaution. He approached the door and knocked, gesturing for Balthezar to come stand next to him.

The four of them waited for a moment, before Pequod knocked again. His eyes narrowed, and he shrugged his shoulders, before he reached into a pack at his side and pulled out a little velvet envelope.

“He’s not home?” asked Balthezar.

“Looks like it,” said Pequod, who withdrew a few hook-shaped tools and compared the sizes to the ones in the lock. He placed one in his mouth and took up two in his hands, before he began to stick them into the lock.

“Pequod!” said Balthezar, but Hotspur shushed him.

The tortle only smiled up at him, with one of his lockpicking tools in his mouth, before he went back to work. He picked for a few moments, rotating between the three tools, one in each hand and one held in his mouth, as everyone around stayed quiet, and soon there was an audible click, and the door fell open.

“Easy,” he said, “Come along.”

“We’re breaking in?” asked Balthezar as Pequod and Hotspur entered the apartment, “What if he’s innocent. Why…?”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, Balthezar,” said Pequod, “Better get in here.”

Balthezar was confused for a moment, before he entered, pushing past the broad shell of the tortle. It was then he saw the body lying in the middle of the floor.

His scales were black, and his eyes were wide open in apparent fear. The cause of death was obvious – a knife in the back. The rigid body lay upon a blood-soaked carpet, wearing a bathrobe and nothing else. It was a dragonborn with a longer snout tinged with grey, and elegantly curved horns which had both been broken in the struggle. His mouth was open, dried up, and by the smell he had been dead for days.

“Gods,” Balthezar muttered, rushing forward, “He’s dead.”

“Too late, huh?” Pequod muttered, “Explains why the brothel didn’t suspect anything. The killer probably stole his identification when he killed him and used magic to disguise himself.”

The green dragonborn stepped forward, kneeling beside the black dragonborn. Feeling as if he had somehow failed this corpse he had never met, he reached down and closed the poor creature’s eyes, before he prayed over him. Meanwhile, Pequod and Hotspur began to search.

There was a sudden warmth upon Balthezar’s face, and he opened his eyes to see that Caliban had licked off the tears that were forming at the corners of his vision. He didn’t even realize he had begun to cry for this stranger, and he wiped his face upon his sleeve.

“Thank you, Caliban,” he whispered.

“Is Cloudgazer alright?”

“I… I will be,” he answered, before he began to investigate the body. There was nothing much to find. The killer had taken the weapon with him. A blood trail led from the center of the room to a door, where the tortle and half orc were investigating. “I’ve only ever met a proper dragonborn today, and here I’ve found a dead one. It’s quite a lot to take in.”

Another lick to wash away his tears was Caliban’s only answer, and Balthezar forced himself to put on a brave face for his lover. Meanwhile, from another room, Pequod cried out.

“Might want to come in here you two. We found something.”

Balthezar and Caliban stood, then and, hand in hand, stepped past Penshkaatzi’s body. They entered the room Pequod had called him from – a bedroom, by the look of it, but the room was completely different from the rest of the house. The melted wax from a hundred burned down candles were set on every surface, and there was a massive bloodstain upon the bed. The trail of blood connected the bed to Mr. Penshkaatzi’s body. Balthzar also noticed runes written upon the bedframe in blood.

“This… this is a ritual chamber,” said Balthezar, almost afraid to step into this unholy place, “A quick and dirty one, but…”

“They did something here?”

“They used Mr. Penshkaatzi’s blood for…” muttered the dragonborn, before he set his jaw and looked around again. He remembered what he had read of such rituals before. “A transformative ritual.”

“This is where he went half-dragon?” asked Hotspur, her own eyes wide as she refused to touch anything.

“Possibly. Usually it requires dragon’s blood to achieve such a transformation. I suppose even diluted, a dragonborn still has dragon’s blood within him.”

“So he killed this poor bastard to steal his blood and turn into a half-breed,” said Pequod, beginning to open drawers and check around for any further clues, “And then he went out for a night on the town and killed the kobold, using his first victim as a disguise.”

“Seems so,” said Hotspur.

“A cowardly hunt,” said Caliban, disapproving greatly.

“Whoop! Here we go!” said Pequod, suddenly, pulling a stack of letters from a drawer. He gave them a sniff, smiling at the cologne, and untied the twine from around the bundle. “Love letters? Don’t mind if I do.”

“Pequod! Those are private.”

“He ain’t got no use for them dead, does he? Besides, maybe it’s a clue,” said the tortle as he opened up one of the sealed, unmarked envelopes. He read for a moment, before he frowned, “Oh.”

“Oh?”

The tortle paused, before he passed the letter to Balthezar and, slowly, put back the letters, knowing what they were. Balthezar was confused, until he read the letter. It was addressed to Gruk, and as Balthezar read, he realized that it was a sincere, if amateurish, attempt at poetry. Penshkaatzi had been lonely, and wrote letters to Gruk, wishing they could be together, lost in the fantasy of dragon and thrall, and asking for them to be pair-bonded, and to meet beyond the walls of the Silver Scale. The letters had never been delivered. This was a private indulgence that Mr. Penshkaatzi enjoyed alone, and Balthezar immediately felt dirty having betrayed that privacy. He stuffed the letter back into the envelope and placed it into the drawer with the others.

Meanwhile, Pequod continued to investigate. He found conspicuous gaps in the clothes hanging up in the closet, as if the master of the house was out and about on the town instead of dead on the floor, and as they searched the entire apartment, they found no keys, wallet, or coinpurse. The anger at this death grew in Balthezar, and he fell silent, until the search was complete.

“If he took the keys, then he intends to come back,” said Hotspur, “He’s still using this apartment as a safehouse.”

“Why not? Nobody knows about Gruk yet. The police won’t care enough to spread rumors,” said Pequod, “Think we should wait here for him?”

“An ambush,” Caliban said, eyes narrowing, “I agree.”

Hotspur nodded her head, her grip on her axe harsh. Pequod then turned to Balthezar.

“If we are all in agreement.”

“We are,” he said, quickly, and he pulled his mace from his belt, “Tell me where to hide.”

“Just on the other side of the door here,” said Pequod, before he closed the door and pulled out the thief tools once again. He began to re-lock the door, “one moment.”

“Allow me to help you,” said Balthezar, reaching out to touch the tortle on the shell.

“No offense, but you don’t seem the type to… oh!”

At that moment, there was glow from Balthezar’s hand as he whispered a small prayer. Immediately, Pequod’s mind was alive with inspiration, his hands suddenly guided to effectively lock the door. He did better than he would have done otherwise, not only locking the door, but erasing the evidence that it had ever been unlocked by a lockpick at all.

“Huh,” Pequod said, as soon as he was finished, looking down at his hands, “Clerics, huh? Gonna put me out of a job.”

“Nonsense,” said Balthezar, before he pressed himself against the wall, and prayed once again for guidance, this time for himself. He slipped, then into the shadows of the room, and hid himself far more effectively than he would have been able to otherwise.

Pequod smiled, impressed, but soon took his own place, finding an area to hide himself. It was easy for him, easier than his skills with lockpicks, and soon, he was simply gone into a closet, which was just large enough to hide him. Caliban and Hotspur both stayed perfectly still closer to the door, ready to attack.

They waited like this for what felt to Balthezar like hours. Staying in his hiding spot for so long caused his crouching legs to cramp, but still, he stayed silent, guided by the inspiration of Deneir. When they heard something, they all tensed. There were footsteps coming up the stairs. Soon, there came a rustle of the doorknob, and the sound of keys entering the lock. As they watched the door, it opened, with Caliban behind the door-hinge and Hotspur next to the opening. Balthezar had the clearest view of him. It was a black dragonborn, with elegantly curved horns. Alive, he was fairly handsome to Balthezar’s eye – a greying lothario, and Balthezar thought of those letters he had left in his dresser – never sent, despite the beautiful sentiments they expressed. To be wearing this man’s skin while he lies dead on the floor seemed like such a horrific sin that Balthezar’s stomach was immediately alive with a fiery hatred.

A half second of hesitation caused the dragonborn to stop at the doorway, Hotspur and Caliban still hidden from view. Balthezar had a clear shot. It was a straight view, and he was hidden. The dragonborn wouldn’t be able to get away.

Balthezar was the first to strike, as the black dragonborn took one step forward, Balthezar stood from his hiding place in the corner and raised a hand to fire a bolt of radiant energy his way, crying out in hatred. He realized he was attempting to avenge the person lying on the floor before them, and that realization galvanized him.

However, as the bolt flew through the air, the dragonborn seemed simply to smile. He raised a hand in reaction, and a translucent bubble of magic appeared from it, coming between the bolt and its target. The attack bounced off of the shield and dissipated.

“Now!” cried Pequod, and Caliban and Hotspur both dove to strike. Hotspur struck first, trying to crash her axe down upon the dragonborn, while Caliban attempted to sink his teeth into him, aiming for the belly. Both attacks bounced off of the creature’s magical shield, however. That’s when Pequod leaped from the closet, already playing a tune. The magical effect caused a slight purple glow to emanate from the creature’s head, and he stumbled for only a moment, before he smiled and shook off the effects of the charm.

“Clever, but not clever enough,” the dragonborn said, before he raised a hand and coalesced the energy within. It formed into a small, tight ball of roiling fire, which he held between two fingers, before flicking it towards the center of the room.

Pequod cried out, “Fireball!” but it was too late. Balthezar watched it explode across the corpse of the black dragonborn, and he attempted to jump to one side, attempting to escape the worst of the blast. However, he felt the horrible heat wash over him, felt the fire licking at his clothes. He screamed in pain, the fire consuming him, and he fell to the floor.

When the worst of the flames had subsided, Caliban was the only one left standing. Pequod was awake and had been knocked to the ground, singed, but able to stand back up, and Hotspur had managed to dive out of the room such that the fire did not consume her. Caliban, however, was roaring in rage, and the fire, although it burned him, seemed not to bother him in the slightest.

In the wake of the explosion, they saw that the culprit had run back down the stairs, and Hotspur wasted no time in pursuit. Caliban, however, saw Balthezar lying, unconscious, on the floor, and hesitated.

“I’ll take care of him, you lovesick idiot!” screamed Pequod, rushing to retrieve a potion from his pack and moving towards Balthezar, “Go after him!”

Caliban wasted no more time. That fake dragonborn had done this to his Cloudgazer. The thought continued his rage, and he roared, turning and rushing down the stairs as fast as he could go.

With the half orc and lizardfolk in pursuit, the half-dragon was laughing madly, turning around every so often to shoot a small bolt of fire up the stairs. Hotspur swore every time, cursing in orcish as the fire barely missed her, dispersing against the edge of the stairs or against the wall. The creature was toying with her, she realized, and the thought of it made her angrier. Eventually, the chase continued down to the ground floor, and the concierge cried out as he saw Mr. Penshkaatzi run away from the smell and sound of fire upstairs, pursued by a half-orc and a lizardman.

The two warriors were unable to catch up before the disguised creature ran out into the street. Hotspur screamed one more curse at him, calling him every name she could think. There were any number of places he could run. Even if they caught up, she knew both she and Caliban were injured at least some from that fireball. This seemed hopeless.

However, as the disguised creature ran out the door, laughing, his laugh caught in his throat as something red and huge closed suddenly around his midsection. He seemed astonished for a moment, before he was pulled out of the doorframe by something unknown. Caliban and Hotspur were both confused, but eager to follow.

Outside, holding the black scaled creature aloft over its head, there was a giant crab standing in the road. The dragonborn in his grip cried out, his midsection squeezed painfully by the crab, and he cursed in draconic, aiming a hand down to fire upon the crab with some magic. However, a tiny red blur rushed from its hiding spot and, with a leap and the twin slices of two keen swords, landed two blows across the creature’s face. Something invisible fell from the creature’s head, then, and all at once the illusion faded away.

Instead of Mr. Panshkaatzi’s weary face, elegant horns, and formal clothes, there instead was held a black half-dragon, with a body that was unnaturally fit and strong. He wore a set of deep purple robes and his black tail was lashing back and forth as he cried out, reaching up to hold his bleeding face. The hat he had been wearing fell to a rest on the ground.

“Damn you!” he screamed, changing his target to the kobold. He seemed to be preparing to cast another fireball when Hotspur and Caliban jumped him. Held aloft by the Crab, he was easy to hit, and he felt the twin bites of steel and teeth, followed by another pair of attacks from the speedy Kobold.

Suddenly, there was a crash from above, and the whole scene was showered with broken glass. All eyes turned up to see Pequod leaning his head out the window, before he invited Balthezar, still singed and looking angry, to lean his face out and extend an arm. The radiant bolt fired out again, and the crab’s assistance caused the bolt to strike true. The half-dragon found himself glowing with a holy energy.

“Damn you!” cried the half-dragon, “Damn y…”

However, before he could do anything else, Hotspur reached up and slapped him across the face with the broad side of the axe. Guided by Deneir’s light, she struck him hard, and screamed as she pushed all of her weight into it. The half-dragon was knocked into a daze, and went limp in the crab’s arms, before the crab squeezed him one last time, finally knocking him out for good.

“Good boy, Dungeness!” cried Puck as he flicked the blood from his blades and launched himself towards the crab, hugging him across his flat, broad body, before scurrying on top.

“Puck?” asked Hotspur, “How the hell did you get here?”

“I did my own investigation,” he said, “I took Dungeness here, and we tracked him down. I had a hunch.”

“A… hunch?”

“Yeah,” said Puck, standing up on the crab’s back, before climbing up the claw holding on to the half-dragon, “I remembered that most of the cultists back then were human. No matter what they turn themselves into, they’re still human, and I know the round ears like the back of my hand.”

With that, he stood up on the half-dragon’s chest, and brandished one of his swords, smiling as he leveled it on the creature’s neck. Hotspur saw a half second before it was too late and cried out.

“Wait! What are you doing?”

“This asshole killed Gruk, right?” asked Puck, holding his sword flush with the throat of his would-be victim, “You’re telling me you want him alive?”

“For one thing you’re in public, you pathetic little gecko,” Hotspur explained, jerking her head to one side, where crowds of people were stopping in the street to watch the few seconds of furious combat, “Seeing a kobold slit a person’s throat in broad daylight won’t help anyone’s cause. Lets just tie him up and get information out of him. We’ve got him dead to rights. There’s a corpse upstairs and everything.”

Puck grappled with what he was going to do. He clenched his teeth together, hatred in his face, but he realized that Hotspur had a point. He grunted, sheathing his sword, and barked a quick order to his crab.

“Keep a good grip on him, Dungeness,” he said, “But don’t kill him. Yet.”

With that, Pequod and Balthezar had finally come limping down the stairs together, with the dragonborn leaning on the tortle’s shell. Caliban, worried, immediately rushed towards his lover, grasping him tight around the chest and nestling his head on the dragonborn’s shoulder.

“Cloudgazer, you burned up.”

“N-not all the way,” said Balthezar, smiling, “I wasn’t sufficiently careful. I’m sorry Pequod.”

“Don’t worry about it too much, Balthezar,” he said, “Although I think next time, wait until he’s in the room with us before you fire the first shot.”

With that, Pequod walked over to where the crab had been standing a moment later and gave a cursory glance around. He smiled as he found a plain, brown topper on the ground, and he snatched the hat from the ground, inspecting it, before he stuffed it into his pack.

“To the police, then?” asked Pequod.

“Not quite yet,” Hotspur muttered, rubbing her backside where she still felt the sting of the backdraft from that fireball, “We should get the story from him first.”

“Er, I don’t mean to be a worrywart, but, er…” Balthezar began, before he pointed straight up. All eyes followed his finger, and they noticed that the fire from the fireball had spread such that the building was now ablaze.

Hotspur smote her forehead, and said to Pequod, “That’s all the evidence up there going up in smoke, isn’t it?”

“Yup,” he said, “It’s our word against his at this point. The important thing is to try to discover what this guy was trying to accomplish. I don’t think it’s as simple as just murdering a couple of people for fun.”

“He had a little fun,” muttered Balthezar, the anger in his heart causing him to snarl.

“Save it for the half-dragon, Balthezar,” said Pequod, “You all go on ahead. I’ll explain to the watch.”

“Will you be alright…?” asked Balthezar, but a rough hand from Hotspur cut him off.

“Don’t even ask. He could talk his way out of Pandemonium if he had a mind to.”

“O-oh. Well, alright.”

With that, Pequod waved goodbye at them, before he sat down on the curb and began to play his bagpipes while the building burned behind him. The haunting drone followed the group, and Balthezar couldn’t help but look back. He felt a sudden rush as the music hit a sudden, inspirational high. It was magic, he could feel it, but he was momentarily confused about the source, until he saw the tortle wink one of his eyes, before he closed his eyes and continued to play.

\--

“Alright,” said Puck, “Wake him up.”

As he said this, Hotspur threw the bucket of water she was holding into the half-dragon’s face. Immediately, he gasped, squirming as the freezing cold water splashed against him. He tried to open his mouth to cry out, but found his jaw tied shut. The black creature struggled to stand, but found his hands tied behind his back and his legs tied down to the legs of the chair he sat in. Even his tail was tied down. He looked up, eyes wide, searching for any escape, and saw, surrounding him, Puck with weapons drawn, Hotspur, smirking as she held the dripping bucket, Balthezar, silently fretting as he stared at the half-dragon, and Caliban, who stared with one eye while the other wandered the room. They were somewhere dark, probably a basement or shed somewhere.

“Good to see you up,” Puck said, the rage on his little face clear, “I’m Puck. Nice to meet you, all formal-like.”

The half-dragon stared at the kobold, eyes narrowed. The kobold couldn’t help but smirk at the creature at his mercy.

“So, naturally, we can’t really do much with you if you can’t talk,” said the kobold, “But also, that acid breath of yours is probably pretty potent, not to mention you’re a spellcaster. Can’t go letting you cast any spells, eh? But, we got some questions for you. So, here’s what we’re gonna do. Balthezar? You’re up.”

Nervous all of a sudden, Balthezar stepped forward. His own brow furrowed in anger at this creature, but it was an uneasy anger, felt by someone who had so rarely had a reason to hate. He breathed in, before he gripped his holy symbol tight and began to pray quietly. He closed his eyes, and a faint glow was cast over him, which flowed towards the half-dragon’s face.

Suddenly, the black dragon’s eyes went completely white, and he flinched back. Blinded, suddenly, he struggled anew against his bonds.

“There we go! Can’t hit what you can’t see, huh?” said Puck.

“It will not last long,” said Balthezar, “Talk fast.”

“That means I’m up. Stand aside, Kobold,” said Hotspur, stepping forward and, careful to stand out of the way of that dangerous snout, pulled the robes binding it closed off. Immediately, the blinded half-dragon opened his mouth and, attempting to guess where his targets were, he immediately unleashed a torrent of acidic breath blindly into the room. Everyone within the room flinched at the smell of the acid sizzling, but no one was caught in the blast.

“I’ll kill you all!” the half-dragon screamed, “You understand me? I’ll kill you. Pathetic thrall! Half-breed bitch! False dragon!”

At this, Hotspur grabbed hold of one of the half-dragon’s horns and forced his head to face to his left. He couldn’t resist against what he couldn’t see happening, and he grunted as he felt cold steel at his neck.

“Lets cut to the chase,” she said, holding the edge of her axe to the draconic throat, “Balthezar, fire two!”

“Let the truth be spoken,” he said, another prayer on his lips, before he cast out a holy aura. Immediately, everyone within the room felt a tingle at the backs of their minds. He nodded, confident that the spell had taken effect, Balthezar breathed in deep. “I’m spent. That’s all I have.”

“Take a rest, Balthezar,” said Hotspur, “How long we got?”

“Ten minutes for the zone of truth. The blindness will clear up soon.”

“Perfect,” said Hotspur, “So, question one: Did you kill that kobold at the Silver Scale?”

The Half-dragon sneered in answer, but said nothing, knowing if he opened his mouth, he would be magically compelled to tell the truth. However, Hotspur shook his head, using his horn to control the movements of the creature’s face.

“I didn’t hear an answer,” she said, “I will kill you if I don’t get a straight answer. You know that ain’t a lie.”

“Y-yes,” he finally answered, “I killed the little whore.”

“There we are,” Hotspur said, “Why?”

“I don’t…” he tried to answer, but the power of Deneir tugged at his mind, and he strained against his own words as he said, “He knew… where… the white dragon is.”

“The white dragon?” Puck said, “You don’t mean Ssylo, do you?”

“The kobold, yeah,” the half-dragon laughed, “Don’t think I don’t know who you are. Dragonblood is common enough in your pathetic race, but such a rare distillation of power is notable. He won’t escape again.”

“We already escaped from the likes of you, jerk!” Puck cried.

“Enough, Puck. It’s question time,” said Hotspur, “Question two: Who do you work for?”

“Th-the cult of Tiamat.”

“Not good enough! Who’s in the cult with you? Who do you answer to?”

“I-I…” the half-dragon said, clenching his jaw. He was blinking his eyes, his vision slowly returning.

“The Blindness is wearing off,” said Balthzar, “Keep hold of his horn.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” said Hotspur, “Answer! Who in the cult do you answer to?”

“Th… the… red… dragon.”

“Who is this red dragon?”

“Our leader.”

“Going in circles, huh?”

“I know the limits of this spell,” the half-dragon said, “I don’t have to say anything. As long as what I say is true, it can’t stop me.”

“But we can,” Hotspur said, “Care to push your luck?”

“You think I’m scared of you?” asked the creature, “I… I am… But I’m… more frightened of the cult. I won’t say anything.”

“That’s a mistake, friend,” Puck said, darkly, “I can take you apart ten ways before ten minutes is up, and by the end you’ll be begging for death.”

The half-dragon said nothing, he blinked his eyes finally, and struggled to regain control of his head to aim another acidic blast. However, the Half-Orc’s grip on his horn was too strong.

“So? Talk!” screamed Puck, “What about Ssylo? What are you planning?”

“Planning? We’re not planning anything,” the Half-dragon said, “It’s already done.”

“What?” Puck asked, brows furrowing, “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” he began, before he struggled against the spell. However, with a smile, he seemed to come to a decision and spoke up, “I mean by this time he’s probably already in our hands.”

“In your…” Puck muttered, “What did you do?”

“Reclaimed our property, and all it cost was the death of a whore and a lovesick old fool,” the half-dragon said.

Puck was seeing red. No one was fast enough to stop him from climbing up onto the half-dragon’s lap and digging the tip of one of his swords into the half-dragon’s belly. The creature’s eyes went wide as the tip of the sword poked through his robes.

“Where did you take him?”

“I don’t know!” he said, forcing a laugh, even as his face seemed nervous about the pain to come, “That’s the truth!”

Puck’s eyes were wide, and he pulled the sword from the half-dragon’s sensitive stomach. Quickly, he hopped down from the broad lap of their prisoner and rushed towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

“The warren!” cried Puck, “Ssylo’s in danger. We have to go!”

Balthezar said, “What about the Half-dragon?”

“Leave him!” screamed Puck, “Let the police deal with him. We got bigger fish! If they get hold of Ssylo… Let’s just say it’s bad!”

Hotspur and Caliban wasted no time, knowing that the leader of the Kobolds was likely already in danger. Roughly, Hotspur lashed the ropes back around the Half-dragon’s mouth, before she rushed to catch up to Puck. Caliban grabbed hold of Balthezar’s hand roughly and began to walk out. The dragonborn gave only one last look back at the Half-dragon, sitting and looking smug even muzzled, and furrowed his brow in hate before turning away to follow his friends.

\--

It had been a long day for the White Dragon. A long, lovely night. He ached from his play the night before – a good ache, full of pleasurable memories. The evening was beginning to fall when he stirred from his bed, naked and wrapped in silk sheets. He felt the head of last morning’s conquest resting on his chest, breathing deeply. She – was this one a ‘she’? Ssylo supposed it didn’t matter – was still asleep. The other one was lying nearer to the edge of the bed on top of the covers, exposed – Ssylo could tell this one was actually the girl, meaning the one resting on his chest was actually a ‘he’ – and snoring lightly. The haze of last night’s drunken fun revisited him. It was the twins again. They were growing to be favorites of his.

He breathed in, his breath growing into a wide-mouthed yawn. He stretched his arms, and the lover resting against him nestled himself into the crook of the white Kobold’s arm. Ssylo would have laid there for a while longer, but he knew this wasn’t the day for it.

“C’mon,” he said, his voice tender, “Time to get up.”

It was the other who stirred first, crawling to her knees and rubbing her eyes. She turned towards Ssylo and smiled at the sight of her brother still laying asleep in their leader’s arms. Ssylo smiled back and gently shook him, before pulling his arm out from under his head and sitting up.

“Hnng… please…” the sleeping lover said, “Not yet.”

“Yes yet!” Ssylo snapped, although neither of his lovers flinched, “I got stuff to do today. We still gotta figure out what to do about Gruk.”

At the mention of their lost comrade, the mood of the room seemed to run cold. Poe especially hung his head and seemed particularly affected by the loss. That sent a pang of tenderness through Ssylo’s heart.

“Can we…?” she said.

“…Come back tonight?” her brother finished.

Ssylo smiled, shrugging his shoulders. He was pleased. Normally he would have decided who to invite up to his room over the course of the day as his fancies carried him through his daily duties. He had no shortage of options, especially since that nagging brother of his wasn’t there to stop him from going overboard. Even so, he always seemed to come back to the twins. They worshiped him, and he quite liked to be worshiped.

“I don’t see why not,” he said, feigning boredom, “Come back tonight, I guess.”

Excited all over, both twins leaped to their knees and both gave their shared lover a brief hug and a lick across each cheek. Ssylo suppressed his smile for a moment, reverential to their affection, but soon gave her a squeeze on the arm and him a pat on the head and sent them both off to gather their clothes and go on with their days. He knew the girl – Akki, he remembered – spent her evenings working further down the docks with a merchant who was allergic to cats, catching rats in his shop, and her brother – sweet little Poe – cleaned chimneys.

Ssylo watched them close the door behind them with one last little wave, before he lay back on the bed, still naked. He knew he was different from other Kobolds. He had always known that. There was more dragon in his blood than usual, and that made his personality different compared to others. He felt deeper that the rest of the warren, such that Puck often had to remind him of his responsibilities when he lost his head. He wondered if he was falling in love with the twins. He wondered if he even could fall in love, or if they could love him back. On one hand love was ridiculous. They were involved in a physical relationship, and if Akki laid an egg, it would go to the nursery, and they would probably lose track of whichever one was theirs. Love didn’t have to factor into it at all. Even so, a little pang in Ssylo’s mind gave him pause. He was different. He felt different. That’s what his whole life had been about. Why not indulge himself a little?

Finally, he knew he had to get up. He sat himself up, and crawled across the bed, before swinging his legs and tail off and standing on the floor. He smiled, thinking of what he would say to Akki and Poe next time he saw them. What did he really want? Did he want them to stay up in his private room with him every night? Co-habitate like how the big people got married? Would they want that?

As his mind wandered, he took a step away from the bed. However, as he did, he felt something harshly clamp down on his ankle, and he squeaked in surprise, looking down. He saw nothing but felt it. Fingers, claws… a hand was wrapped around his leg, coming from underneath the bed.

“Alar-!” he began to cry out, but another invisible hand clamped itself around his snout. His eyes went wide, and he tried to cry out with his mouth shut. Immediately, his hands were alive with somatic incantation, trying to fire a spell into the invisible assailants accosting him. However, more hands appeared! How many were there? How had they snuck in?

All at once, he felt ropes begin to lash themselves around his arms, binding him. They became visible as they hugged his body, and he was soon tied up, helpless! He attempted to wriggle himself free, but it was no use. They had him.

“Welcome home, son of Tiamat,” a voice – a woman’s voice, raspy and cold, and with an edge of malice to it – whispered in his ear, “It has been too long.”

Ssylo’s eyes opened wide. The cult! He had sent Puck away to go live with Balthezar’s crew and left himself wide open to the cult! He froze in sheer horror as he felt a hand touch him on the forehead and heard whispered magic words. A cold feeling flowed across his body, and he looked down at his own body and saw himself fade away, turning invisible as the intruders were. He heard only a small chuckle in his ear before an invisible bag was forced over his head, and his world fell into black.

\--

The kobold guards welcomed Puck with a casual greeting, and a nervous glance to the three green big people following after him with serious expressions. The rust-colored Kobold blew right past them, however, calling his brother’s name desperately. Without waiting for the guards to allow them in, Dungeness skittered in sideways, following his master, with Hotspur right on his heels, followed at once by Caliban, and finally Balthezar, who apologized to the two Kobolds.

Within, Puck wasted no time, he rushed through the warren, ignoring the friendly greetings from the kobolds around him. The ones who knew the easygoing ranger the best were immediately disquieted by his worrisome manner, and as soon as he and his giant crab began to climb towards the stairs leading up to Ssylo’s perch above the warehouse floor, whispers began to run through the warren, instantly turning into rumors that shot through the community like venom through the bloodstream.

Balthezar half-expected a fight and had his hand on his mace. He was completely tapped of his magic for the day, however, and would only have cantrips to work with. Looking around, he saw the worry on the faces of the kobolds around him and thought better of following his more violent companions. He stopped short, gesturing silently for Caliban to follow after Puck. The Lizardfolk hesitated but nodded and climbed the stairs after the rest of the party. Balthezar then hung his mace on his belt and turned to the nearest Kobold.

“G-good day,” said Balthezar, “I’m sorry to have disturbed you all.”

The kobold who answered him was slightly taller than the rest, but not by much. He wore an apron and no other clothes, and said, “Green dragon! You came back!”

“For the moment, yes,” said Balthezar, smiling at the nickname, “I’m afraid there may be some trouble soon. Has anyone seen anything at all strange going on today?”

“Strange?” another Kobold asked. Balthezar looked up and saw him sitting on one of the shelves above, legs swinging, “What d’ya mean strange?”

“Um… any… any creatures like the other day with that Half-dragon? Creatures like me, but with a tail.”

“Like the lizard?”

“N-no. I mean…” Balthezar hesitated, before he breathed in, centering himself, “Draconic, not reptilian. They might be bright colors.”

“We ain’t seen nobody like that,” a third kobold said who was standing behind Balthezar, clutching onto his robes with apparent fright, “What’s wrong with Puck?”

“Er… We don’t know yet, but Ssylo may be…” he stopped himself. He didn’t want to send the warren into a panic. Instead he smiled and simply said, “We’re checking up on Ssylo.”

“Is this about the assholes who killed Gruk?”

“Yeah!” a different Kobold cried, “Did you bring the killer’s head?”

“Where’s the killer! Did you get him?”

One after another, more and more Kobolds swarmed around Balthezar, demanding to know what had happened to Gruk’s killer. Balthezar could barely speak over the din to tell them. He felt hands clutching his clothes all over, pulling him this way and that, and soon began to feel hands and feet begin to climb up onto his shoulders and up his back. He cried out for silence, trying to bring the mob back under control, but felt the weight of the Kobolds crawling over him begin to weigh him down.

Soon, a loud screech sounded out, and all at once, the Kobolds scattered in fright, screaming. Balthezar’s eyes were wide as he was suddenly freed, and he looked around for what happened. He saw the Kobolds hiding behind shelves and corners, or inside the empty crates that had been left behind. He then turned to see Pequod, with the reed of his bagpipes in his mouth, smirking. He opened his mouth and let the reed hang down.

“Clear off him, you scabs!” cried Pequod, and a few good-natured ribs were hurled back at him, “Let the Green Dragon talk, for pete’s sake!”

At this, Pequod winked his eye at Balthezar, who smiled in a silent thanks to the bard, before he turned back to the hiding Kobolds and began to speak.

“We found him,” he said, “He’s in police custody now.”

“You didn’t kill him?” asked one of the older-looking kobolds, “He killed one of ours!”

“It isn’t our place to kill him. That’s up to the city watch,” insisted Balthezar, but he remembered a moment later to whom he was speaking, “But we… roughed him up a little beforehand.”

A lusty cheer rose up then, and in reaction, Pequod placed a meaty claw upon the dragonborn’s shoulder and smiled.

“Good answer,” said the Tortle, “Where’s the rest?”

“Upstairs,” said Balthezar, “I decided it would be good to inform the warren…”

However, before Balthezar could finish his thought, they both heard a high-pitched scream coming from upstairs. An unnatural silence fell over the entire warren, a chill running through the darkness. The tortle and dragonborn glanced at one another, before they rushed over to the staircase up and began to climb.

Soon, as they walked across the scaffold leading to Ssylo’s room, they took in the scene. Caliban and Hotspur were standing, weapons out and teeth bared, but with nothing to use them on. Dungeness the crab cowered in one corner of the White Dragon’s den at the fury of his master, and Puck, driven to apparent madness from grief, was whirling around the room, screaming, beating his fists against the walls, desks, and cabinets. He picked up a chair as Balthezar approached the room and flung it into a mirror built into a vanity, shattering the glass and showering the floor in shards. Caliban stepped in front of Balthezar protectively.

Puck continued to scream, inarticulate noises of grief and rage, as he sank slowly to his knees among the broken shards of glass. Puck’s four companions stared into the room, silent, unsure of what to say. It was Balthezar who broke the silence as he whispered for Caliban to let him by and stepped into the room.

“Puck,” he said.

“They took him, Cloudgazer,” Puck whispered, his voice husky from having screamed himself hoarse, “They took my brother.”

Balthezar wished he knew what to say. He felt betrayed in that moment by his own mouth and mind. This was one of his companions – one of the friends he had made in Waterdeep – and he couldn’t even think of the right things to say to make him feel better. Nothing could fix this, nothing he could said. He stood, dumbly, before he took the only action he could think of. Without saying a word, he stepped forward, around the shards of glass littering the floor, and sank slowly to his knees, getting down to his small friend’s level. Puck slowly looked up into Balthezar’s face. There were no tears in his draconic eyes, and Balthezar guessed Kobolds couldn’t exactly cry in the same way that other races could, but that didn’t lessen his grief. He reached down to take his friend by the shoulder, and then, slowly, he pulled the kobold into a warm embrace.

They said nothing, then. Puck simply hung limp from Balthezar’s hug for a moment, before he sighed deeply and raggedly, and clutched the cleric’s clothes, burying his face in them to try to escape, if only for a moment, from the horror of his own failed duty.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An assault on a cell of the cult to save Puck's brother!

Caliban sat at the bottom of the stairs, staring at the kobolds who had gone about their days around him. There was a morose atmosphere as the tiny dragons skittered about, however, as news of the disappearance of Ssylo the White Dragon spread through the warren. Caliban was instructed to make sure nobody came up the stairs to interfere with the scene, and he crossed his arms imposingly. Most Kobolds gave the lizardman a wide berth. Only two seemed willing to try their luck.

Caliban had noticed the two Kobolds on the edge of his vision an hour before. They lingered for longer than the others. It was a pair of identical-looking red kobolds with green stripes, one that smelled of soot, and the other that seemed to smell mostly of rats. They stayed for a while, before they seemed to disappear. However, they were not gone long, and returned to Caliban’s vision soon after. Off and on, they appeared and disappeared, always in a different place, and seemed to shrink away once the lizard noticed them.

The lizard didn’t have any objection to rubberneckers as such, as long as they did not attempt to climb the stairs. He suspected they would try for some reason, and so he was ready when he heard a noise coming from beneath him underneath the staircase. He stood and turned like a flash and snatched the two Kobolds off of the railing where they were attempting to climb up and over the stairs from beneath. The two creatures immediately began to screech and cry out as the Lizardfolk picked them both up bodily, one by the tail, and the other by the collar of their soot-stained workshirt.

“Lemme go!” the one hanging by her tail cried, “Let us go up!”

“No,” Caliban said, before he dumped the two Kobolds on the floor in front of the stairs in a heap. He then sat back down and stared at them, “Go away.”

“We wanna see puck!” cried the Kobold in the workshirt, desperation in his voice as he stood up, crawling all over his sister, “We have to know what happened to Ssylo!”

“Nobody knows what happened yet,” Caliban said, simply, “Go away.”

“But…!” he tried to retort, but his sister snorted as she too stood.

“Don’t try to talk to him, Poe. He’s just a dumb lizard! Probably just wants to eat us!”

“But he’s friends with the Green Dragon! He’s gotta help…!”

“Green Dragon couldn’t even keep the White Dragon safe! He lured Puck away. We weren’t prepared. The Green Dragon can…”

“Do not insult Cloudgazer in front of me,” Caliban said, his voice as dispassionate as ever, but his eyes narrowing just slightly, one eye focused on the female and the other on the male.

“Or what? You gonna eat me after a—EEK!”

At this, Caliban whipped his hand out to snatch the female up in his grip, grabbing her tight around the waist. His hand engulfed her entire belly, and he lifted her up easily, staring into her face.

“Lemme go!” she cried, “Let. Me. Go! Poe! Help me you idiot!”

“A-Akki? Let go of my sister!” Poe cried, rushing forward with apparent fool’s bravery and beating his fists against the Lizard’s legs. Caliban stared down at the Kobold before him, and then the Kobold in his hand.

“Why do you want to see Puck?” asked Caliban, “He’s busy solving this.”

“Because we saw Ssylo last!” screamed Akki, “We spent the night with him!”

“You are Ssylo’s lover?”

“S-some days, yeah,” said Poe, almost bashful, “We both are.”

“Both. I see,” said Caliban. He understood the arithmetic, and his mind didn’t particularly care to try to understand the mechanics of Kobold coupling. “I’m sorry.”

“S-sorry?”

“What’re you saying sorry for, you stupid…”

“It is what you say when something bad has happened to someone else, even if it was not your fault. I am saying sorry, because I can be sorry for you.”

Both kobolds fell silent at this, and Caliban felt the need to explain further.

“If I lost Cloudgazer I would not stop until whoever took him was meat in my jaws,” said Caliban, “You are the same, yes?”

Without hesitation, the two Kobolds nodded, confirming Caliban’s suspicion. The Lizardfolk nodded his own head and placed Akki back on the floor.

“I cannot let you up,” he said, “But you can stay here until Puck says you can.”

The two Kobolds stared at the Lizard, and then at one another, before they gave up and sat down on the floor before the lizard, clutching one another in apparent grief for the loss of their lover. Caliban said nothing more. He didn’t think words needed to be said. He understood them, and they understood him. The three of them sat in silence for a half hour, until Puck appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Cloudgazer’s done up there,” said the kobold as he walked down the stairs, followed by his giant crab, “Akki, Poe, what are you…?”

“Puck!” cried Poe, standing up at once, “What happened?”

Puck, still standing halfway up the stairs, shook his head, before he said, “Best if I only have to explain once. Go get everyone, okay?”

“Is Ssylo…?” asked Akki.

“We’ll get him back!” cried Puck, a sudden fire in his voice, “Don’t worry. Go.”

At once, the two kobolds squeaked and rushed off, telling every single kobold they found that Puck was calling a meeting. Puck seemed to deflate all at once, and he walked down to sit next to Caliban, collapsing on the stairs like a marionette with cut strings.

“The twins, huh? He always liked the twins a little too much,” muttered Puck.

“Your brother is in… love with those two?”

Puck shrugged. “He’s like Balthezar in some ways. He feels. Side effect of the draconic bloodline, I guess. I didn’t think anyone in the warren would worry enough to come sit vigil for him.”

“They love him,” said Caliban, nodding his head, satisfied with his estimation of the situation, “Or at least they are for Ssylo what I am for Cloudgazer.”

“Maybe? It don’t work that way here. Romance ain’t really our thing. You have fun, you pop out an egg, you go on with your life.”

“You do not pair-bond?”

“Nope. Ssylo’s… different though,” said Puck, before he forced himself to his feet. A small crowd of Kobolds was gathering, “He inspires people. It’s weird.”

“You love him too,” said Caliban, “Like a brother. That is not usual.”

“No, it ain’t,” said Puck, quietly, “But here we are. Lot of that going around.”

At this, the kobold climbed halfway up the stairway and turned back to regard the members of the warren who had arrived to investigate. Puck stared at the crowd, thinking hard, before he decided he had wasted too much time already and breathed in deep, preparing his words.

All of a sudden, he heard a mellow tune played on bagpipes. He turned and saw Pequod standing on the scaffold above, with Hotspur and Balthezar standing on either side. The music reached a sudden crescendo, and Puck felt the music within himself. He turned, then, towards the crowd and was finally ready to speak.

“Alright, you sons of bitches, listen up!” Puck said, and immediately all eyes were on him, watching with rapt, frightened attention, “You probably heard the rumors. You know what’s going on. Ssylo was taken. Kidnapped, by the same jerks who killed Gruk.”

A cry of hate rose up from the crowd, which died down a moment later.

“I know! I know! Shaddup!” Puck cried over the voices of his warren, “We’re in trouble, that’s for sure. But you know what? You still got me. You all know about me and Ssylo’s past with the cult of the dragon. Well, they’re back, and they took my brother. I’d love to say that everything’s gonna be fine, but y’know what? I don’t know that! All I do know is I’m heading out right now to get my family back!”

This was answered by cheers. Balthezar was astonished at how smoothly the kobold was improvising this speech. Pequod simply smiled.

“Until then, you assholes gotta stay here. This is too much for you weaklings, you got me? I know this is Kobold business, and you probably don’t like the sight of big people in here, but that’s tough! They’re involved in this now, too. Up there, I got their trail. We’re gonna head out right now and follow them and go get my brother back. Me, and Caliban, and Pequod, and Hotspur, and the Green Dragon.”

To Balthezar’s surprise, a few people cried out ‘Green Dragon!’ in answer to Puck’s words, and Puck turned to look up at the dragonborn with a smirk before he went on.

“Stay safe, stay together, and most of all, stay out of trouble. Akki! Poe!”

The twins were surprised that Puck had called them out specifically. Poe hid behind his sister.

“W-what?” Akki called back to Puck.

“He liked you two best,” said Puck, smiling a little, “So you keep his stuff safe, okay?”

Both of their eyes went wide, before their little draconic brows furrowed. Keeping the boss’s stuff safe was obviously a solemn responsibility, and immediately they slipped past Caliban and rushed up the stairs past puck and soon ran into Ssylo’s room.

At this, Puck nodded his head and began to walk down the stairs, before he turned and called up to the rest of his party, “C’mon. Time to go. I got the scent.”

“Where we headed?” asked Hotspur, walking down the stairs.

“Not sure yet. Just gotta follow the trail,” he answered, “But we’ll find them. And they’re gonna pay.”

\--

It was growing dark by the time the five of them found themselves wandering the back alleys of the Dock Ward, moving towards the Trades Ward. Puck was all but crawling as he traveled, stopping for only moments as he sniffed out clues. Hotspur and Pequod walked side-by-side not far behind, and Caliban and Balthezar took up the rear. Caliban’s eye was on Balthezar as he walked, while his other eye swiveled around to look out for threats. Balthezar gave a long sigh as he walked, which was answered by both of Caliban’s eyes focusing on his face.

“Cloudgazer is tired?”

“What? Oh! No!” said Balthezar, straightening his back as he walked on, “Well, maybe a little.”

“We should let you rest,” said Caliban.

“No. We have to go on. Puck’s family is in danger.”

“You have no magic, do you not?”

“I…” Balthezar muttered, looking down at his hands. He clenched them into fists and closed his eyes, digging deep. He felt a deep exhaustion in his soul, but perhaps he might have had a little more left within him. “I feel stronger. I have at least enough not to be useless. And otherwise I still have my mace.”

“A simple mace will not serve Cloudgazer for long,” said Caliban, “We should find you a better weapon.”

“I… I can’t wield anything much more complicated than this. I’ve had little martial training, just enough to get by.”

“I will teach you, then,” said Caliban.

Balthezar opened his eyes and turned to look at Caliban with eyes wide. He smiled a little, as if the lizardfolk was joking, but the smile soon fell and he tilted his head to one side.

“Teach me?”

“How to wield a weapon,” said Caliban, “I have mastered all of the weapons of my tribe.”

“You have?” asked Balthezar, “But…”

“Yes?”

Balthezar wondered if it would be impolite to mention the elephant in the room. He cleared his throat, before he reached up and touched his lover’s face under the jaw, smiling sheepishly.

“You fight with your teeth, don’t you?”

“I do,” said Caliban, “But that is my choice.”

“I assumed you bit people because you didn’t know… I suppose that was stupid of me to think…”

“It is okay. A lot of people think I know nothing.”

“It is not okay. I should know better,” Balthezar said, quietly, “But… yes! I would appreciate lessons. Thank you. I’m sorry I underestimated you.”

Caliban shook his head, turning back towards his watch. However, Balthezar furrowed his brow, his mind still racing.

“Why?”

“Cloudgazer?”

“Why…? Why the teeth? Surely using a sword would be safer.”

Caliban was silent for a while at that, both eyes sliding off of Balthezar to stare off into the middle distance. The dragonborn could see the lizard’s lip curl into a small snarl for just a moment, before he reached down and took Balthezar’s hand in his own. Balthezar looked down at the lizardfolk’s grip, wondering if he was taking comfort from the warmth of his hand.

“It is because my tribe used weapons,” said Caliban, “I decided I did not want to be part of my tribe. They kicked me out. I became a…”

Caliban searched for the word, and as he did, he reached up to his neck. Balthezar thought he was about to touch the insignia of the dragon claw around his neck, but he realized there was another necklace beneath it, where a sharp piece of black bone was hanging by a piece of twine. Caliban touched it with his own claw.

“What’s that?” asked Balthezar.

“A bear’s claw,” said Caliban, “When I bought new clothes, I asked if the leatherworker had claw or bone he could sell me. He drilled a string through a claw and sold it to me for two copper coins.”

“Oh. You like bears, then?”

“I respect bears. My people do not worship the Gods so much as they worship the land we lived on, and the creatures there. We draw strength from them. Cloudgazer wears a symbol of Deneir. It… is the same thing. I need to be strong. I will be strong, like the bear, to protect you and the others.”

Balthezar stared at the bear claw, a faint smile forming on his face, before he met Caliban’s eye. His smile widened, and he nodded, laughing.

“I see. I like it. It suits you.”

“Suits…?”

“It’s rather like you. You’re like a bear.”

“That is what I said I would become when I left,” said Caliban, “A bear. Alone. Wild. I am not alone anymore, so I needed a totem to remind me.”

“Well, I’m glad of that,” said Balthezar, “I feel as if I should teach you something in return, though. I don’t know if there’s anything you would like to know. I have access to libraries all across the city, perhaps…”

“I am not much of a reader,” said Caliban.

“Well, that’s alright. The nice thing about books is they’re always there for you. You can start whenever you like, and once you’re tired, you pop in a bookmark and it will be there for you once you’re ready to return.”

Caliban thought for a moment, reaching up to scratch under his chin, and finally said, “You know of magic.”

“You… want to learn magic?” asked Balthezar, his face falling, “I’m… afraid that would be rather difficult.”

“Not full magic. Rituals. Ways to talk to nature. I knew shamen who could do at least that much.”

“Oh! Well, yes. I think that would be more than possible, I suppose,” said Balthezar, “If you have an idea of the spells you would like to learn, I can certainly help you.”

Caliban nodded his head. The conversation over, he turned his eyes back towards the front, where the two of them noticed that Puck had stopped in the middle of the alley. Pequod and Hotspur formed a thick wall of muscle and shell between Balthezar and the kobold.

“Find something?” asked Pequod.

“Humans,” muttered the kobold, with barely concealed spite, “Or at least they used to be. Not satisfied having every opportunity in the world, you gotta turn yourself into some kind of horrible monstrosity on top of that.”

“I’m half pinkskin, y’know,” snapped Hotspur, sneering around her tusks, “Just tell us what you found.”

“They ain’t used to their new bodies yet,” said Puck, standing up and looking around the area. He pointed towards an emptied rain barrel on its side and continued, “Clumsy. One of them knocked over that rain barrel with their tail. Another one walked through the water and left tracks. Wearing shoes – fancy ones. Probably uncomfortable around those new draconic paws of his. They ain’t nobody. Whoever these assholes are, they got some money. Only…”

“Only… what?” asked Pequod.”

Puck paused and considered the scene, “One of ‘em ain’t transformed yet. They’re still a pinkskin. Another… ain’t human. They don’t act right.”

“You really are adept at tracking humans aren’t you,” Balthezar remarked.

“Humans are bad news. Or at least they are when you meet ‘em on the road. Forget wolves, bears, or any other wild animal. You see humans on the road you turn the other way and run unless you’re desperate. Most dangerous animal you can meet out there,” said Puck, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. He then hopped onto Dungeness’s back and tapped his hard shell twice. Immediately, the crab began to skitter on sideways. “Their safehouse ain’t far. The guy wearing shoes’ll lead us right there.”

No more words were necessary as they continued to skulk through the alleys. Hotspur drew her axe, and Puck retrieved both of his swords. Balthezar took up his mace, thinking for a moment what weapon he might like Caliban to teach him to wield. Something long-range, he thought, so he could stay well back from danger, but not a bow or crossbow. He needed to be able to keep at least one hand free to access his holy symbol. As his mind wandered, he considered the logical approach. A whip would not be logical – he was not the most dexterous. He needed something to take advantage of his draconic strength.

As he thought, however, he did not notice Caliban stop until it was too late and he bumped into the lizardfolk’s back. The lizard was an immobile wall, and Balthezar blinked as he rubbed the tip of his snout. He then noticed that they were standing outside of what appeared to be some kind of condemned building. He nearly turned to Pequod to ask why they stopped, but he found that the tortle had already stretched his long neck to meet the dragonborn’s face, reaching up to shush him silently with one claw.

“They’re in there,” Puck whispered, eyes wide – almost reverential. Balthezar worried about his state of mind for a moment. His desperation to get his brother back was clear.

“If I may,” whispered Balthezar, “They have access to magic. I should see if I can detect it, in case there are traps.”

“So, do it,” Puck answered.

“I need a few minutes to complete a ritual. Perhaps ten or…”

“We ain’t got ten minutes,” hissed Puck, turning and staring at Balthezar with the nastiest look the green dragonborn had ever seen on the rust-colored creature, “We go in now. Use some magic if you’re gonna cast something.”

“B-but I… We didn’t rest before…” he stammered, “I don’t think I…”

“Then forget it,” Puck said, before he hopped off of Dungeness and crept up towards the door and inspected the handle. After a moment, he nodded his head and turned to Pequod, jerking his head towards the door. The Tortle immediately began to move, alarming Balthezar with how light and silent the huge creature’s footsteps were, and they each stood on either side of the door. “You hear bagpipes, you come running, okay you three?”

“You got it,” Hotspur said, taking up a position at the corner of the building and glancing around the corner just in case, she then placed the head of her axe on the street and leaned against the shaft, “Just don’t be a hero in there, Puck.”

Caliban stared at Puck, and astonished Balthezar when he approached the kobold and, awkwardly, raised his hand to rest on the little draconic creature’s low shoulder. The simple touch seemed to astonish Puck as well and he looked up into the lizardfolk’s eyes.

“Be careful,” said the lizard, simply, before he turned back towards Balthezar and, taking the dragonborn under his protection, gently took him by the arm and lead him to a shadowy corner of the alley.

With that final encouragement from his friend, Puck steeled his expression, before he slowly turned the doorknob and peeked inside. When he saw nothing but a darkened hallway, he pushed the door so slowly the hinges did not squeak, and soon he, Pequod, and his surprisingly quiet giant crab slipped inside.

\--

Within, the building was just as ruined as it looked from the outside. The back door they entered through lead to a hallway lined with doors leading to what used to be cheap tenement flats squashed together side by side. Pequod frowned as they crept through the shadows. He didn’t like how closed in this hallway was, especially considering his bulk. Puck didn’t care. The tortle, kobold, and crab made nary a sound as they turned a corner and saw the boarded-up front door of the block, and a staircase leading up. Puck raised an arm, and Pequod froze immediately.

The kobold made the reason he stopped clear when he pointed down at the floor. There was a fine layer of dust in the corners of the hallway, but in the middle, it was clear. Foot traffic had dusted the floorboards. They were in the right place. Puck crept forward a little more, giving a sniff to the air and grimacing at the scent. Pequod didn’t know what he was smelling for, but he had apparently caught a whiff, and he didn’t like it.

A jerk of the Kobold’s head and they continued, up the stairs, and to the second, and then the third floor. It was absolutely silent in this building, except for an occasional creak of the walls. Puck was too light to make the floorboards squeak, and Pequod, used to sneaking around places like this, knew where to place his feet where he would make the least bit of noise.

Eventually, they made it to the end of another hall, and both froze as they heard noises. Voices were talking, hushed, but still easily audible. They were speaking in common with Waterdhavian accents.

“Think that little white kobold’s really some kind of chosen one?” asked one of the voices, “Seems a little… I dunno, weird?”

“We’re not meant to question the wisdom of the high priestess. She’s a chosen herself. She knows best.”

“But it’s a Kobold! He’s just some albino piece of garbage.”

“He knows magic.”

“You say that like an asshole with a flute can’t pick up a few spells. Magic isn’t impressive. I could have learned magic if I’d cared to ask for the lessons.”

“Lucky you,” the voice replies. It was clear he was less than enamored with his companion, “His magic’s innate. Sorcery. You can’t learn sorcery.”

“Bah. Charlatans and discount wizards.”

“Don’t doubt power. The High Priestess is a chosen herself.”

That caused the two of them to fall silent. Puck and Pequod had crept closer to listen at the door, waiting for any other information they could gather.

“What about Stephano?” the first man asked, “Think it’s done?”

“You remember the ritual. It is a long, painful process.”

“But… but worth it. We were nothing before.”

“I was nothing. You were rich.”

“I might as well have been nothing!” he insisted, “Just because I had money doesn’t mean I was happy.”

“Don’t dwell on things from before,” his companion barked, “That man is dead now. Only you remain.”

“Will Stephano be White, I wonder? White is a good color.”

“White dragons are the lowest order of Chromatics, but we need one of each for the final summoning.”

“Right!” the man said, “I just wish they’d hurry up. They’ve been up there too long.”

Puck’s eyes lit up. Up. Ssylo was upstairs. Immediately he turned away from the door and began to move, but Pequod raised a hand and jerked his head towards the door, as if to ask, ‘What about them?’

Puck thought for a moment, before he turned back to the door. They couldn’t give away their position so soon, or else Ssylo would be in even more danger, but leaving two half-dragons to their own devices behind them meant they could be pinched in once they went upstairs and started making a commotion. Pequod thought about what he could do, and finally smiled broadly. Instead of swinging his bagpipes around, he pulled from his pack a small drum – a chultan hand-djembe – and began to pound a slow, gentle rhythm into it. As he did, he approached the door and peeked through the crack the two half-dragons had left, putting eyes on his targets.

There were two of them. A blue half-dragon wearing long black robes, and a green who wore a dirty suit, although it seemed like it used to be expensive. The blue went barefoot, his claws splayed across the floor, but the green seemed to be wearing a pair of nice patent leather shoes, and his knee bounced from impatience. Perfect. A mind weak enough to succumb to a cult was surely weak enough to succumb to a charm.

Pequod’s pounding intensified as he whispered the words to the spell. The blue half-dragon seemed to perk up and look towards the door with furrowed brows, but it was too late.

All at once, the green half-dragon stood up and walked over the the blue. He had an odd lurch to his step and seemed all at once to be shivering. The blue half-dragon noticed and looked up at his companion. It was then that he noticed the mad glint in the green dragon’s eye, as well as the spectral thorns which had wreathed themselves around his head, tangled around his horns.

“Clive?” asked the blue, before, in one smooth movement, the green pulled a thin rapier from his belt and slipped it cleanly into his companion’s neck. The blue’s mouth opened wide to scream, but the green had aimed true, cutting off his wind so that he could only rasp out a small, pained noise. He flinched back as Clive pulled out his sword, and immediately he was on his feet, groping around for a weapon.

It was then that Puck launched himself through the door and joined the attack. He leaped for the injured half-dragon, slicing into his already injured neck. Blood spattered all over the ground and all over the kobold’s clothes. The mad glint in the green dragon’s eye began to fade all of a sudden as he realized what was happening.

“Wh-what did I…?” he stammered, staring down at the blood coating his blade. He froze in place, and, slowly, began to remember his breath weapon. Without any apparent practice, he began to breathe deep, a few whisps of green smoke escaping his mouth.

“Not this time, friend,” said Pequod, playing a complicated riff on his djembe, which seemed to strike the green half-dragon with a physical force, and all at once the mad glint and thorns reasserted themselves. Puck knew exactly what to do and moved to the other side of the blue half-dragon, making sure the green would attack his own.

And attack he did. Another stab sank into the blue half-dragon. He attempted to escape, but Dungeness snipped his leg, freezing him in place and forcing him back into the path of his mad companion, who, over the course of the next few seconds, vaccilated wildly between confusion and madness as Pequod accompanied the bloodbath with the rhythm of a tribal drum beat. Soon, between the attacks from Puck, Dungeness, and his own former friend, the blue half-dragon lay dead on the floor, eyes wide in astonishment and horror.

One threat gone, Pequod had no more use for the spell, and stopped playing. As if waking from a dream, the green half-dragon snapped out of it fully, staring down at the corpse at his feet with wide eyes, before he dropped his rapier to the floor in horror.

“Gods…” he said, his tail whipping back and forth with nerves, “Wh-what did I…”

“You killed him, friend,” said Pequod, stepping into the room. He had dropped the crown of madness, which faded from around the green’s head, but as he called him friend, all at once he seemed to have a supernatural charisma about him. “You know what they’re going to do to you if they find out.”

“I-I… You g-guys are… are intruders! I should…”

“Should what?” asked Pequod, “tell your high priestess that you stabbed your friend here to death? She’s going to kill you when she finds out. These cult types don’t forgive things like that.”

“Sh-she needs me. She needs one of each color! I’m the green!”

“You’re disposable, friend,” Pequod insisted, that word seeming to sooth the frightened green half-dragon, “The last green dragon in her employ died not too long ago, you know. You’re new. Did she not tell you about him?”

“Sh-she had a green before me?” he said, his eyes widening. This new magic was taking hold of him.

“Used to,” he said, “Then we got him. She can replace you like that. Now. Which would you rather be? A corpse by her hand, a corpse by ours, or a free man?”

“I-I want to g-go home. I… I don’t…”

“So?” Pequod said, his face splitting into a truly evil grin, an alien expression on his affable tortle face, but even so, the half-dragon felt himself shiver at the sight, “Run. Quiet, now, or she’ll catch you.”

Immediately, Pequod’s intimidation took effect. He whimpered, and then turned to rush out the door, flinging it open without care and running out. He began to wipe his blood-stained hands on his clothes as tears began to stream from his eyes. Soon, he was gone. Pequod smiled, his face losing its frightening edge.

“What was that?” asked Puck.

“A cantrip,” said Pequod, “Won’t last but a minute, and he’ll be pissed when it wears off, but, that’s more than enough time for him to run out the back door and right into Hotspur’s axe.”

“Remind me never to piss you off.”

“So noted,” Pequod said, happily, “C’mon.”

Once again, Pequod and Puck were silent as they continued to climb up the apartment stairs to find Ssylo. There were only three storys to the building, and the next flight up led them to rooftop access. On the other side of the door leading up to the roof, they heard chanting.

“Its them!” Puck said in a harsh whisper, “Come on!”

“We should figure out what we’re up against and then call the others first,” said Pequod.

Puck wanted to argue. He seemed to be vibrating in rage, but he saw Pequod’s point. He turned to the door and gave it a cursory examination. In his haste, he found it to his satisfaction, and turned the doorknob carefully, intending to peek through and see who all they had to worry about.

On the other side, Puck saw two figures in long robes standing over some kind of slab. One of their robes was a plain brown, and seemed oversized for the figure draped in it, but the other was wearing robes of deep purple, and Puck could see bright red scales peeking out from underneath. A knife was held in one hand, and some sort of ritual book was held in the other, and she seemed to be speaking a slow incantation as she waved the knife back and forth in front of the man before her. On the slab, tied down with chains, Puck could clearly see the white-scaled form of Ssylo.

He gasped, eyes wide, and pushed further on the door to get a better look. Ssylo seemed unharmed but was unconscious and restrained. Puck wasn’t too late!

However, both the kobold and the tortle heard something strange. There was an odd noise, like a high-pitched squeal. Puck was confused, but Pequod knew it was bad and grabbed the kobold by the collar to pull him away from the door. All at once, the door seemed to explode open, fire coursing into the alcove they were hidden in and engulfing the both of them. Pequod saw the outline of the glyph in the fire, and knew the trap they had just fallen into. By then, the flames had licked past their bodies, and Pequod ducked his head into his shell, hoping to avoid the worst of it.

\--

Hotspur gave one last deft chop, and soon, the green half-dragon’s head was separated from his shoulders. The surprise on his face was almost comical as he watched his own body fall to its knees, and then crumple to the floor.

Balthezar grimaced, eyes wide at the sudden carnage. The half-dragon had barreled through the door and had nearly screamed when Hotspur struck. It didn’t take much. This one was clearly not as robust as the last two.

“What…?” asked Balthezar.

“Glad Pequod didn’t hog all the fun for himself,” said Hotspur, flinging the blood off of her axe and onto the cobblestones, “Probably charmed him to come down here. He knew we’d be able to ambush him and pick him off. Old ploy of ours when he snuck on ahead.”

“I-I see,” said Balthezar, “Does that mean we should head inside?”

“Not until we get a signal,” insisted Hotspur, leaning back against the wall and shrugging, “He’s a quiet turtle. One of the stealthiest sons of bitches I ever saw, including some second-story men I’ve met. If anything, Puck’s gonna have to try real hard to keep up with him.”

“Strange sort of fellow,” muttered Balthezar, “Not the sort I would, er, expect to see hanging about a Lady of Waterdeep.”

“Aw, that’s cute, Balthezar, calling me a lady.”

“W-well, you are! I was taught always to mind ranks and customs. You, well, outrank the rest of us greatly.”

“Don’t remind me,” Hotspur sneered, looking annoyed, “Listen, Hellena outranks you guys. Hotspur’s just another mercenary. Don’t get it too twisted.”

“B-but…!”

“I like Pequod because he doesn’t stand on ceremony around me, understand?” she explained, “He saved my bacon, back when I first started out. Got in way over my head.”

“Oh?”

Hotspur smiled, and then sighed, as if resigning herself to tell the story, “I got my start when I snuck out one night against my grandfather’s wishes to take a job cleaning out a goblin nest outside of town. Y’know the type of trouble. Real cut-n-dry bottom of the barrel adventurer stuff. Trouble was I got too cocky and thought I could take on a whole goblin camp on my own. Big mistake. I was lucky I could hold ‘em off long enough that someone heard and came running. Imagine my surprise when I heard bagpipe music coming from the trees, and soon, the goblins started killing each other instead of me.”

“Goodness.”

“That’s what he does best. Messes with people’s heads,” she said, “But, y’know, in a good way. ‘On the side of the angels,’ as he likes to say. It didn’t matter to me. He saved me and I hated his guts for it, but I had to show my appreciation. I invited him to dinner, and the son of a bitch hasn’t left since. Don’t take in strays you’re not prepared to take care of for life, Balthezar Cloudgazer. ‘Course, you know that already, don’t you?”

At this, Hotspur smirked, with a sly look towards Caliban, who had not been paying attention to the conversation and had instead taken to crouching in the alley, one eye focused down one way, and the other eye focused in the opposite direction to check both entrances to the alley at once. Balthezar followed her gaze, and grimaced. He said nothing.

Suddenly, as Balthezar tried to think of a retort to this. A sudden noise rose up over the air. It sounded like an explosion, which rattled the building, causing bits of brick to sprinkle down to the street. All three looked up in time to see the fireball roar into sight for a moment, lighting up the rooftop, before it dispersed.

“That seemed like a rather good sign to me!” Balthezar said, pulling his mace from his belt, “I’ve a bad feeling. Shall we?”

“Follow me, holy man,” said Hotspur, her face stony and serious, as she jerked a thumb towards the door, “With me, Caliban. Let’s go!”

Caliban said nothing. He merely rushed up to the door and, with a grand strength, laid a kick into it, knocking the whole thing off of its hinges. The two of them rushed inside and Balthezar, knowing he mustn’t fall behind, was not far.

\--

“Damn it!” Pequod cried. When his face emerged from his shell, he was on his side. His scales stung from the sheer heat that had washed over him, and he winced in pain, before he looked around for puck. He saw him and his giant crab crouched beneath the lip of the stairs, singed, but both looking better than he did.

“Get up!” cried Puck, his eyes staring out the door onto the rooftop, “They’re coming.”

As if in answer to that, a bolt of fire shot through the door, and the kobold narrowly ducked in time for the flame to pass over his head harmlessly. Pequod took that as his cue and leaped to his feet, turning to see that the red-scaled half-dragon and her still-human acolyte were facing the door, smile upon her face and fear upon his. Good. Fear was something he could use.

Immediately, he swung his bagpipes around and began to play, eyes focused on the human. He was the weak link here. Just a quick charm and they could even the odds.

However, a smirk passed the half-dragon’s lips. She waved a hand, calling out, “Useless!” As the crown of madness began to form around the human’s head, she shot out a disruptive wave of magic which dispersed the crown at once.

“Damn. She’s powerful!” cried Pequod, ducking behind the door frame, “You’re up.”

“I’ve got her in my sights,” he said, a gleam in his eyes letting Pequod know he had cast a spell of his own, although his magic was more instinctive than Pequod’s. One didn’t need to learn to mark one’s prey. It simply happened. The Kobold then leaped onto the back of his crab, and together they rode out into the rooftop, Dungeness’s claws snapping and Puck’s swords gleaming. Just for a little extra insurance, Pequod played a little ditty to aid the charge, and Puck felt a familiar swell of confidence rise up within him.

“Filthy sewer scum!” the half-dragon screamed, before she slapped the human on the back and said, “Get him!”

The human wasted no more time. He crouched down into a battle-ready position, before reaching into his robes to retrieve a dagger. He moved with grace and dexterity, and the Kobold knew he would be a more dangerous foe than he first thought. Still, no mere human could best him.

Puck clashed with his first sword, and the human managed to catch it with the guard of his dagger. However, the crab snapped his claws, making a loud noise which caused the man to flinch, and was distraced as the second sword swipe bit into his belly. He stepped backwards too late, staring down at the slice in his robes, before he looked up at the kobold with hatred.

“Kill him, you fool!” screamed the Half-dragon as she turned away from the fight and ran towards Ssylo.

Pequod peeked his face out of the door frame and called out, “Getting someone else to fight your battles for you, eh? Cowardly tactics! What would Tiamat think?”

The half-dragon flinched at the mockery, the words laced with magic lancing into her mind, but she pushed through the feeling, reaching the albino Kobold and picking him up bodily.

The human chose this moment to lunge while his opponent was distraced by his mistress, but the Kobold was well-suited to the habits of humankind. He easily dodged out of the way, and counterattacked with his own attack, first one slice to deepen the one at his belly, and when he hunched over in pain, he spun about and sliced into his neck with the other. Blood sprayed over the kobold and his crab, staining them both an even deeper red, but neither even waited for the man to drop before they were on the move, chasing after the half-dragon cultist.

The red-scaled sorcerer laughed as she held Ssylo under one arm and began to undo the ties holding her robe closed with the other. She let the robe fall open, and, to the horror of the tortle and kobold, she unfurled a wide pair of leathery wings.

“Try to follow if you can, you piece of filth!”

She continued to laugh as she beat her wings, immediately lifting off from the ground. She smiled down at the two of them, mocking them with her gaze, and her amusement only grew when Hotspur and Caliban barreled though the door, followed after a moment by Balthezar.

“What in the world?” the dragonborn remarked.

“She flies?” demanded Hotspur, “Bullshit!”

“Get her down!” screamed Puck, who had dropped one of his swords and was fishing a crossbow out of his pack, “She’s getting away!”

Pequod stepped up, attempting to play something, but with a wave of her hand, she countered his spell, dispersing his magic and causing his face to contort in discomfort.

“Damn it!” he muttered.

Balthezar stared up at the half-dragon, who seemed to be preparing to escape. His eyes were wide, and he clutched his mace uselessly. What could he do? Throw his weapon? Surely, he would miss and just chuck the hunk of iron right off the side of the building. He raised one hand, trying to consider what spell he could cast, but he was sure he was done. Still, he had to try. Gripping his holy symbol, he closed his eyes, praying clearly and honestly, for something he could use to defeat this enemy and save his friend’s brother. A weapon. A spell. Anything!

Alongside that wish, he thought of his favorite things. A good book. Unbidden, a fantasy came to him. Many of the books in the library at Candlekeep were dangerous. If only he had one of those forbidden tomes. He heard sudden music.

At that moment, the half-dragon turned, intending to fly away with raucous laughter. However, as she did, she felt a sudden impact upon her face and cried out. There was a flash of light in front of her and her vision was blurred for a moment, and she stared at what had ambushed her.

On a glow of divine energy, there was a flutter of paper before the Half-dragon. It seemed to flap in the air like a bird, opening and closing its front and back cover like a pair of wings. It was a massive tome, with a bright white cover and an aura of energy surrounding it.

“What…?” she demanded, and all of a sudden, the book snapped closed, before it swung forward and came right at her. Like a brick, the spine of the book smashed into the side of the half-dragon’s face, causing her to flinch back.

Balthezar had a slight glow in his eyes as he realized the floating book was under his control. He opened his mouth, and stared down at his holy symbol, and then back up at the scene.

Taking the opportunity, Puck and Hotspur both sprang into action. Puck fired his crossbow, sinking a bolt into her back, while Hotspur retrieved a hand axe from her belt and tossed it, chopping into the joint where her wing attached to her back. Caliban, seeing what she had done, snatched the second hand axe from her and threw it himself, roaring in rage.

The third blow came, sticking into the half-dragon’s back, and finally she began to fall, her wings clipped. She screamed in fright, and tried to control her fall, forcing her to flutter back towards the rooftop. She smashed into the roof, the kobold under her arm bouncing away from her, and she rolled to a stop.

Pequod seemed astonished, and then sly, as he turned to stare at Balthezar and quipped, “I thought you were tapped.”

“I… I thought I was too…” the dragonborn said, eyes wide as he stared down at his holy symbol again. He then smiled, “Praise Deneir.”

With this new-found shot of confidence, Balthezar raised a hand as if reaching for the spectral book, and made a fist, pulling the book closer towards the half-dragon. Realizing just how much control he had over this spiritual weapon of his, he smiled brighter, and he whipped his fist down. The book smashed into the half-dragon’s back, and she screamed, writhing around on the ground.

Rallied by the turn of the tide, Caliban, Hotspur, and Puck charged the half-dragon, Puck tossing his crossbow to the ground and pulling out one of his swords. However, Caliban arrived first, sinking his jaws into the half-dragon’s shoulder, followed by Hotspur swinging wide with her axe.

The priestess screamed as that massive hunk of metal slammed down, and blood began to spurt from her wrist. The scream became a screech of rage as she saw Puck rush forward, ready to lop off her head. Meanwhile, Balthezar and Pequod rushed forward towards Ssylo and worked together to drag the white kobold out of the way of danger.

That’s when she finally acted. With her one hand, she stretched her fingers wide, gathering power in them, and that power began to glow bright red in her hand.

“Die, interlopers! By the queen of dragons!”

At this, she slammed her fist down on the rooftop, and before the Kobold could sink the edge of his blade into her neck, a roaring ball of flame erupted, consuming Puck, Hotspur, Caliban, and the half-dragon. Balthezar’s eyes went wide as he saw their friends disappear into the flames, and he cried out Caliban’s name.

An instant later, the fireball subsided. Hotspur and Caliban were still standing, patting out the flames on their clothes and skin, but Puck lay on his back, unconscious, flames licking at his scales. The half-dragon had barely been phased by the fire, and while the rest of them were still reeling, she stood and stared down at the kobold lying at her feet, half-dead.

“Puck!” cried Balthezar, before he waved an arm, ordering the book to fly down and strike her again. However, she was ready for it this time, and she raised a hand towards the spiritual weapon. A translucent shield appeared between her and the glowing book, and it bounced off harmlessly.

“This is what we do to traitors to dragonkind,” she rasped, her voice ragged from the exertion of the fight, and her breath labored from the pain in her ruined wings. Even so, she placed a clawed foot on Puck’s neck and began to push her full weight down on the kobold. He squirmed, weakly, but couldn’t raise an arm to help himself.

All of a sudden, the half-dragon went perfectly rigid, her face contorting into a surprised sneer. She stepped off of the kobold to regain her balance as she felt a piercing pain in her back.

“You think your precious queen favors you this day?” Pequod whispered into her ear as he twisted the tip of the rapier slipped between her ribs, “That a god would allow a dirty tortle to strike you like this? Some God.”

“S-silence, heathen. You’ll not speak… of the Queen of dragons that way…”

“If she doesn’t like it, she can come out of hiding and smite me herself,” Pequod said, his smile taking on a cruel bend. After a beat, he continued, “Guess not.”

The look of pain upon her face was soon overtaken by a look of dire despair before Pequod jammed the blade in deeper. She breathed in sharply, and her eyes rolled back into her head. With her final breath, she formed words, “Auldina.” Soon, the half-dragon began to crumple, and Pequod pulled his blade from her back, immediately smiling in a friendly manner.

“P-pequod,” Balthezar muttered, horrified at his cruel taunt.

“Blades aren’t the only weapons you have, Balthezar,” said Pequod, pulling a handkerchief from a pouch at his side and wiping the blood from his blade, “A twist of the knife and the turn of a phrase and a person’s mind can attack itself. She was trying to kill us. Now she’s dead. Go help Puck.”

“But…”

“Be a…”

“… Team player, I get it!” snapped Balthezar, pushing past Pequod and rushing over to the kobold’s smoldering body. He knelt down, feeling the poor creature’s pulse, before he began to pull supplies out of his pack.

Slowly, wishing he had any magic at all left, he soothed the kobold’s burns the old-fashioned way, using salves and bandages until they could properly heal him. The Kobold’s eyes were fluttering, trying desperately to wake up, which Balthezar took as a good sign. The kobold was strong and wouldn’t die before he knew what had become of his brother.

“Everyone else alright?” asked Balthezar by reflex, even though he knew there wasn’t much he could do for them. He turned his head towards the spiritual weapon, before blinking his eyes and, as if he opened a fist, the spectral book disappeared into particles of light.

“Fine,” spat Hotspur, sitting down on the ground and groaning from the burns, “Magic. Ugh.”

A lick on the cheek from Caliban reassured Balthezar that the lizardfolk was alright, and he nodded.

“Keep an eye on puck. I’ll go check Ssylo.”

“Yes Cloudgazer.”

The dragonborn then stood and rushed over, joined soon after by Pequod. Although the manner was cool between them, they both knelt and inspected the chains on him. The Tortle pulled out his thieves’ tools and soon got to work opening the padlock while the dragonborn began to gently slap the side of the kobold’s snout.

“Ssylo,” he whispered, kindly, “Come on. Wake up. I hope we weren’t too late.”

“No wounds,” said Pequod around the tool stuck in his mouth, “Though that doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Puck worked too hard for his brother to never wake again,” Balthezar said, frowning, before he redoubled his efforts, “Ssylo. Ssylo! Wake up.”

The albino kobold stirred just as Pequod finished unlocking the chains and let them fall from around his body. He was naked, with lesions around his arms and legs where the chains had rubbed his scales raw, but he was otherwise unharmed. His eyes fluttered open, and Balthezar could see his eyes blurring as they tried to focus on the people looming over him.

“C-Cloudgazer?” he asked, “What…?”

“Thank the gods,” Balthezar said, “Ssylo, are you alright?”

“Do I look alright, you great big snotball?” he snapped.

Balthezar was momentarily taken aback but remembered a moment later. To a Kobold, a well-placed insult was friendly. He smiled, before he and the tortle reached down and helped the small creature to sit up.

“Where’s Puck?” asked Ssylo, “I thought I heard Puck… where?”

Balthezar and Pequod glanced at one another, before Balthezar sighed and said, “Don’t worry about him. We’re all safe now.”

“I want to talk to him.”

“He’s a little under the weather,” said Pequod.

“Bunk!” Ssylo cried, pushing their hands out from under his shoulders and standing up. He looked around and soon saw Caliban crouching over his brother. The white kobold’s eyes went wide all of a sudden, and his jaw went slack.

“Ssylo…” Balthezar said, reaching over to touch him. However, he pushed away the dragonborn’s hand and stormed right over to the unconscious Kobold.

“Hey!” cried Ssylo as he walked right up to Puck, “Wake up, you jerk!”

To the horror of everyone gathered around, the albino kobold kicked Puck hard right in the ribs. Balthezar cried out in fright, afraid all of his ministrations would be for nothing, and Hotspur and Caliban both reached to stop the kobold from any further harming of his brother. However, to everyone’s astonishment, Puck coughed and blinked hard, rolling over and clutching his ribs where the kobold kicked him.

“Owww!” he cried out, “What’s the big idea?”

“I knew you were just faking!” cried Ssylo, “Look, you scared everyone!”

“I got half burned to death, you idiot!”

“Oh la-di-dah, so you got a little toasty, you want I should freeze your burns shut?”

“Ooh if I could sit up, you’d be sorry.”

The barrage of insults continued unabated as they spoke, their smiles growing more and more as they did, before Ssylo finally fell to his knees and threw his arms around Puck’s neck. Puck couldn’t help but laugh a little, weakly reaching up to touch his brother on the arm.

“Thanks, you jerk,” said Ssylo, so quiet that only his brother could hear.

“Your own fault getting kidnapped, you asshole,” Puck answered, with all the tenderness of a kiss.

Balthezar allowed a sigh to leave his snout, and he fell back on his haunches, finally well and truly exhausted. The Tortle sat down next to him, and soon everyone on the roof was silently sitting, recovering from the battle for a precious moment.

Soon, however, Pequod stood. There were still things to do.

“C’mon,” he said, “We gotta hide the bodies.”

“H-hide…?” asked Balthezar, before he realized what they had done, “Oh gods, we’re murderers! We broke the law! What are they going to…?”

“Nothing, if we don’t get caught,” said Hotspur, grabbing the red-scaled dragonborn by the legs and beginning to drag her nearer to the human lying dead on the floor, “Wipe off your weapons. If you got blood on something and someone asks, it’s your own blood. Pequod…”

“The bodies downstairs. Already on it,” he said, moving towards the exit, “Caliban, I’d appreciate some help.”

Caliban stared at the Tortle, before he turned to look at Balthezar, whose wide-eyed expression worried him. When Balthezar realized that the Lizardfolk was staring at him, he mastered his expression. He realized he was being silly. These were cultists. It was against the law of the land to kill them, even with justification, but in the laws of the gods he followed, they had orchestrated unspeakable evil, and had been punished. They just happened to be the instruments of their divine retribution.

“Go on, Caliban,” said Balthezar, standing up and moving towards the brothers as he said, “I’ll be fine.”

“I will be back soon, Cloudgazer.”

“Thank you. I think… we should begin our lessons sooner rather than later. Maybe tomorrow,” he said, before the ache in his limbs from the day’s exertion caught up to him, “Not the weapon training but… the library. Yes. Somewhere we can… sit.”

“Yes. Library,” agreed Caliban, nodding, before he turned and walked after Pequod.

Working together, the four adventurers and even Dungeness the crab worked together to drag all four bodies into a pile and, once they were all stacked up, hotspur produced several bottles of oil and Pequod lit a torch with his tinderbox. He stepped towards the pile of bodies and reached the burning tip towards the pile. However, Balthezar stepped forward.

“Wait,” he said.

“Balthezar,” muttered Pequod, impatient.

“No, please,” he interrupted, before he reached for the torch, “This is a funeral. Allow me, please.”

Pequod stared at him but shrugged his shell and handed over the torch. Balthezar nodded his head as he took it, staring into the flame. A burning candle was Deneir’s symbol. A candle would have been better, but this would have to do. He began to pray, silently at first, commending the spirits of these four souls beyond the veil to their just reward, to forgive them that which they repented and that they find in the great beyond what they deserve.

“Goddess of dragons,” said Balthezar, to the surprise of everyone around, “I am not one of your children, but I have come to steward your children to their fate. They have served you loyally and faithfully, with passion and conviction, and for at least that much they are to be commended. They are now yours, to reward them as you see fit. Let their deaths satisfy you, and stay beyond the veil, well away from the material plane. By my patron God Deneir, let it be so.”

Slowly, the cleric lowered the torch to touch to the oil-soaked clothes and skin of the four bodies. They all took to light immediately, although the red half-dragon seemed to resist the flame. Still, even she burned, and soon the bodies were a roaring bonfire. Ssylo had Puck’s head in his lap, and the two of them watched the fire with unblinking, squinting eyes, clearly in pain from the brightness of the fire, but unwilling to look away.

“That’s it,” said Pequod, “If anyone asks, we were never here, got it?”

“Yes, of course,” said Balthezar, walking towards Puck and picking him up gently, “Sorry for insisting, but…”

“Nah,” said Pequod, “It was right. It’s between them and the Gods now.”

Nobody said anything else, they simply left the roof, walked out though the building, and disappeared into the night, leaving behind only the smell of burning bodies.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life returns to normalcy, or at least as normal as things get in the city of splendors.

The reward for their capture of Gruk’s murderer came the next day – a handsome sum, and for the first time since coming to Waterdeep Balthezar found himself flush! One hundred gold pieces. He had been astonished to see that bag of gold. One hundred gold pieces, even split five ways, was a handsome reward for a hard few days of work.

The next morning was taken up by triage for Puck’s wounds. Balthezar and Pequod both pitched in with their own magical abilities, and soon Puck was back on his feet, with nothing but scars to show for his run-in with the cult of the dragon. The two kobolds wasted no time in climbing aboard Dungeness after that and, after a hasty goodbye, rushed off with Puck’s share of the take to deliver Ssylo back home and deliver the good news.

With all of the last-minute business taken care of, the group all went their separate ways. Pequod, his coffers replenished, headed out for a day on the town and Hotspur – Hellena at that moment – had to attend a function with her mother. That left Caliban and Balthezar alone together, and with their promise still fresh on their minds.

It wasn’t hard for Balthezar to find a library that could help. Visiting the temple had spread the rumors of a chosen one of Deneir all around the city. He didn’t quite realize being a cleric of Deneir was that much of a big deal until then, but he was thankful for it. The combination of his god’s influence and his own status as an acolyte of the scribes of Candlekeep gave him access to more or less every place books were kept, and with only the briefest of puzzled glances for the lizardfolk who accompanied him, picking at the collared shirt and trousers he wore for the sake of dressing nice.

Soon, the two of them found themselves in a private study in the Grand temple of Mystara, receptacle of magic of all sorts. Balthezar thought for a moment they would not let Caliban in. He had explained that he was cut off from his tribal traditions and needed help to reconnect with his people’s spiritual magic, and the head priestess seemed confused that a chosen of Deneir had chosen such a strange case to take, but still, she gave her permission and her blessing, and Balthezar was thankful for her help.

A stack of books was set out in front of them. Balthezar had a faint smile upon his face as he carefully thumbed through a tome of magic. It was a book on druidic traditions – a novel topic that Balthezar had never thought to study before – and he was enjoying leafing through the tome, looking for the spells that Caliban had described to him. Caliban, for his part, seemed uncomfortable here. He stared at the books as if they were dangerous creatures and kept his hands underneath the table and his tail absolutely still.

“If you would like to crack open a book, you may, Caliban,” said Balthezar with a smile.

“I would not know what to look for.”

“Well, let me worry about that,” said Balthezar, gesturing to the selection of books before them, “I grabbed several subjects, not just magic. I think these spells are going to be fairly simple to learn, especially if you only need to cast them as rituals. Speaking with animals and seeing through a beast’s eyes are basic enough spells if you’ve the capability. After we get a start learning that, I thought perhaps you could take a look through the rest and choose what you would like to learn next. They’re all written in Common or Draconic, and I made sure not to pull anything dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

“Some books read you back,” said Balthezar, as if it was common knowledge, “And some bite. Those books tend not to be in regular rotation, so don’t worry about that.”

Caliban hadn’t been, but he was now. Even so, he narrowed his eyes and focused on one book in front of him. It was a history book, or at least it said it was. As he opened the front cover, however, he saw a wood-pressed image of a man and a woman, apparently human, embracing. The woman had her hair piled up on her head and wore a long dress, while the man was wearing bright, ornate clothing, as well as hose which emphasized the size of his calves. The two of them were holding hands high up in the air, and as Caliban studied the picture, he saw that there were other couples in the background, as well as a troubadour playing music.

“Here we are,” said Balthezar, “I knew it would be simple. Now, stop me if I get too technical, but… What do you have there?”

Caliban looked up from studying the picture and saw that Balthezar’s eyes were blinking as he peeked over the lizardfolk’s shoulder. Caliban looked back to the illustration and shrugged.

“A party, I think.”

“Oh, yes! That’s the history of the lords of Waterdeep. I thought we would get a better idea of our hosts, the Eagleshields.”

“Hotspur’s family will be in here?”

“Yes, they should be. It’s probably up to date as well, so Lady Hellena will likely be in there, albeit as a baby,” said Balthezar, smiling.

“Do lords have parties like this often?”

“I… I suppose so.”

“And they dance,” said the lizard, “I did not think humans danced.”

“You… you didn’t?” asked Balthezar, suppressing a laugh, “Well, I suppose since you weren’t allowed into bars until recently you wouldn’t have been able to see. Yes, they dance quite a lot!”

“Strange looking dancing.”

“Is it? I’ve learned to dance like that. It’s very modern. It’s a polka.”

“Poker, yes,” the lizardfolk said, nodding, “The Tortoise said he would teach me this poker.”

“Not poker. Polka. It’s a sort of… Well…”

Balthezar thought for a moment, the spells he was meant to be teaching the lizardfolk forgotten as he thought of the best way to describe a polka to Caliban.

“W-well, it’s a partner dance. It’s in beats of four, and you hold your partner in a position like in the picture,” said Balthezar, “And the music is, uh, I suppose I don’t know what it’s supposed to sound like at a fancy party like that, but one of the acolytes had an old squeeze-box, and sometimes we would dance about with a barrel of wine. I was never very good.”

“You have pokered before, then?”

“Yes,” said Balthezar, “What kind of dances did you have back in your tribe.”

It was Caliban’s turn to search for the words to explain, but he was not as eloquent as his friend. Instead, he pushed his chair out from under the table, and stood, before he gave a high-pitched squeal and raised his arms high in the air, slamming his thick leg into the ground in a sudden, steady rhythm. Balthezar was taken off guard completely and was thankful a moment later that these study rooms were soundproof – designed for wizards experimenting with spellbooks. To the rhythm of his stomps, Caliban began a tribal dance, mouth wide open and expelling guttural, heavy noises as he swung his arms down and shook his head, eyes wide. In a circle, he flailed himself around, arms, head, and tail, and Balthezar was completely transfixed by the sight of it. However, the demonstration was short, as Caliban lost the rhythm, and fell out of the dance. He attempted to keep time, but his noises lowered into a low rumble as he calmed down and scratched under his chin.

“Forgot the rest,” said Caliban.

Balthezar couldn’t help but clap his hands together. He had never seen anything like that, and he was smiling from ear to ear as he said, “Bravo.”

“It was nothing impressive,” said Caliban, before he turned back to the book and poked the picture with a claw, “More interested in Poker. Dances with the tribe, everyone got up and danced as one. Nobody touched. Some danced to tell the stories of hunts, or to teach tribe lore.”

“Oh, well, I suppose dances like these are party dances. Men and women dance together.”

“It is for mating, then? Like birds.”

“W-well, not always,” Balthezar said, taken slightly off guard. However, he mastered his bashfulness and forced a smile. “Sometimes it’s simply fun. I never had feelings for any of the acolytes in Candlekeep, but we still danced around.”

“Hmmmm,” Caliban said, both eyes suddenly focused on Balthezar. He sat, then, and continued, “Show me.”

“W-what?”

“This Poker dance. Show it to me.”

“I-I… R-really? B-but I… I don’t…”

“You said to knew it.”

“I… I know, but…” Balthezar stammered, eyes wide. He could feel his face warming up. However, a moment later he realized he was being silly. This was Caliban. He smiled and nodded his head. “Right. I can show you, I think, just… I’m not very good either so don’t mind if I forget.”

Caliban nodded and sat back in his chair to watch as Balthezar cleared his throat. He raised one arm, as if to grasp the hand of an imaginary partner, and with his other hand he wrapped his hand around the invisible woman’s waist. He felt awkward, standing like that, but soon, he began to polka, counting silently to himself, shifting his weight first to one side and then the other. However, he didn’t get very far before he bumped into his own chair clumsily and lost his rhythm. He immediately dropped his partner hold and groaned.

“I… I can’t,” he said, suddenly, “Sorry, I…”

“You have no partner,” said Caliban, as if he was explaining a problem.

“I suppose not.”

Caliban nodded his head then, before he stood as well and, doing his best to mimic Balthezar, placed his hands in the same positions that the dragonborn had taken earlier, embracing an invisible partner like Balthezar had done. Balthezar blinked his eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“If this dance needs two, then Cloudgazer can’t perform it alone,” said Caliban.

“You want to dance with me?”

“That is a silly question. I want to do everything with you.”

That answer threw Balthezar off guard, and he couldn’t help but smile at the flutter in his stomach. He hesitated for only one more instant, before he pushed all the chairs in to prevent another unfortunate chair-related crash. Having cleared the floor around the table full of books, Balthezar stepped forward and began to appraise the lizardfolk’s form. He had no idea where he should place his hands, so he held them vaguely where he imagined a body might be. Balthezar breathed in, before stepping into Caliban’s arms. He raised his own hands to decide where he should place his arms and mistakenly tried to hold the lizardfolk in a woman’s partner hold, before realizing that their arms knocked together. Caliban had seen and mimicked the man’s hold. Balthezar laughed and knew what to do.

“You’re going to be the man,” said Balthezar, as he took Caliban’s right wrist and guided his hand to clutch the small of the dragonborn’s back. He then reached up with his own right and took Caliban’s left hand and held it high. Caliban’s eyes split their focus between Balthezar’s face and the hand held in the air. Balthezar continued to explain, “Now, you count to four.”

“Count? We’re dancing.”

“Just count,” Balthezar insisted, “For all of its artistry, all music is ultimately mathematics. For a polka you count to four. One-two-three-four. Like that. Alright?”

“One, two, three…”

“In rhythm,” Balthezar insisted, “One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, got it?”

“One-two-three-four,” muttered Caliban, before he continued to count in rhythm under his breath.

“Perfect! Now. All you have to do is take three steps to your right, then three steps to your left.”

“But I am counting to four, how are there only three steps?”

“Four isn’t a step. Four prepares you to step the other way.”

With that, Balthezar demonstrated as much as he could, first taking three quick half-steps in one direction, before raising his leg on the fourth beat and mirroring his movements in the other direction. With some gentle encouragement, the lizardfolk’s feet began to move, and he started to count to four as he attepted to polka, his eyes glued to his feet, monitoring them. Soon, he and Balthezar were stepping side to side. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four.

“Now, turn me as we polka.”

“Turn…?”

“So we go in a circle as we dance,” he explained.

Caliban was game, and he haltingly pulled Balthezar around in an awkward, precise angle. Balthezar laughed at the rough manner of his partner, but then grunted as he felt the lizard’s heavy footsteps on his toes. He flinched, dropping the hold.

“Ow…”

“Is Cloudgazer hurt?” asked Caliban, instantly worried.

“I’m fine,” Balthezar said with a laugh, before he stepped back in and put his hand on Caliban’s shoulder and took the lizard’s claw in his other once again, “We try again. That’s how we learn.”

Once again, Caliban began to count, staring down at his feet, and once again they began their halting polka. This time, however, Caliban had the rhythm, and even managed to turn Balthezar around when he remembered.

“Good,” the dragonborn said, “See? You’re good at this.”

“I have danced. Just not like this.”

“Lucky for you I was usually the girl,” Balthezar quipped, “It’s a lot harder doing this backwards.”

“Do you want to switch?”

“No! I’m not complaining at all,” said Balthezar, enjoying the feeling of the lizardfolk’s claw on his back, “Now, lets start moving around. Maybe it’ll be easier to turn me when we’re mo – Oh!”

Caliban took Balthezar off guard when he immediately stepped aggressively at the start of his next beat. Sooner than the dragonborn expected, the two of them were dancing around the square study room. Balthezar’s mouth opened in a smile, but Caliban’s was harsh and concentrating, staring down at his and Cloudgazer’s legs.

“Good!” said Balthezar, “Now… One more thing.”

“One-two-thr… what?”

“Look at me.”

Immediately, Caliban’s eyes rose to meet Balthezar’s. There was a small hitch in his step, but he got back on the beat a half step later. With eyes locked together, they continued their sweet, silent polka around the room. Soon, the flutter in Balthezar’s heart began again, and all at once, Balthezar could hear music. He smiled again, as the rhythm of their dance matched the song of the universe. He was sure Caliban couldn’t hear it, and yet he kept perfect time to it. Balthezar pressed close as they bounced around the room, circling the table over and over again. Caliban required no more instruction. Their dance was rough and unformed, but it was a polka, and in Balthezar’s opinion the most perfect polka he had ever danced.

Caliban had even stopped counting out loud, instead giving a number of measured grunts, similar to how he had vocalized when he was giving his demonstration of his tribe’s dance. They spun around, Caliban growing more daring in how he led Balthezar. The dragonborn laughed, unable to hold back his enjoyment, and Caliban let his own tongue loll out the side of his mouth. His tail whipped about in time as well, knocking against the floor and the sides of the chairs and table. All the cares of the world melted away, and all that was left was the body pressed against each dancer.

“How are… Brother Balthezar?”

At the sound of the sudden intrusive voice, Balthezar’s eyes went wide and his smile fell. He pulled his hands away and his feet stopped, but Caliban kept on dancing, bumping into his lover and nearly causing him to fall over onto the table. He cried out as the only thing keeping him up was Caliban’s arm around his back. He hung by Caliban’s arm, nearly limp, and forgot for another instant about the voice calling out his name.

“Brother Balthezar!”

“Ah! Yes!” Balthezar said, finally pulling away from Caliban, who chuffed in annoyance at their dance being interrupted. When the dragonborn turned, he saw a woman staring at him. She was wearing a colorful habit, with dark skin and an ornate piercing in her nose. “I’m sorry, uh, did you need something?”

“Just… checking in on your progress,” the sister of Mystara said, “You were teaching the lizardfolk magic, I thought.”

“I’m… teaching him many things,” said Balthezar, “Deneir is a god of, er, knowledge and literature and… and lots of things. Creative ventures!”

“Like… dancing?”

“Polka!” Balthezar insisted, before he stammered and walked back around the table and showed the woman the picture, “Courtly dancing, you know? Just in case… well…”

“That book is probably twenty years old,” the woman said, “Lordly households haven’t danced the polka in at least a decade.”

“O-oh,” Balthezar muttered, visibly deflating, before he puffed himself up and placed the book back on the table, “W-well, still, it’s worth knowing, surely. In any case we aren’t finished here. I still have to teach him those spells.”

“If you insist, Brother Balthezar,” the woman said, with one last glance at the lizardfolk, who was turning slowly in a circle, moving his feet in a small, personal polka. She stared hard at him, before she slowly closed the door.

Balthezar gave a long sigh, before he closed the history book and turned back to the book on magic. “I think that’s enough of a distraction for now. I apologize.”

“For what?” asked Caliban, walking around the table with a certain spring in his step, “Poker is exciting.”

“Still, the spells.”

Caliban stared at Balthezar, and slowly, the realization dawned on him. Yes, he had asked for a different sort of lesson. He soon sat, and paid attention to the book of magic.

“Speaking with animals,” he muttered, and Balthezar couldn’t help but smile as he resembled a disappointed child on his way to school.

“And Beast senses,” said Balthezar, “And… perhaps we might find somewhere tonight where they do dance the polka and, er, try it out?”

Caliban looked up into Balthezar’s face, excitement clear. He nodded his head and, given new incentive to learn quickly, he buried his snout in the book and began the process of figuring out the rituals necessary for the spell, all the while counting three steps and a fourth beat to prepare to step the other way under the table.

\--

Puck was tired, but he was also a hero, and it seemed like every single kobold in the warren came up to his cot to congratulate and thank him for what he had done, or to deliver little gifts of food to thank him for getting revenge for Gruk and bringing Ssylo back safe. Ssylo, for his part, didn’t leave Puck’s side for most of the morning, shooing away well-wishers so the injured kobold could sleep. Eventually, still wincing from the still-raw burns, Puck managed to catch a few good hours of rest.

As he woke in mid-afternoon, he felt a lot better. Balthezar and Puck’s magic had healed the worst of his burns, and all that was left were the dark patches of rusty scales across his face and arms. He looked down at them, sitting up. They actually looked kind of badass, and he smiled. Kobolds didn’t tend to have scars. If attacked, most were either killed instantly, or got away without a scratch.

As he woke, Dungeness nudged him with a claw, and he looked around. He was sitting in his usual place underneath the stairs so he could monitor who all was coming and going into Ssylo’s den high above. He had a good view of the whole warren, which had been personalized more since the crates of illicit goods had been cleared out. Many of the shelves had been broken down for scrap wood and iron and used to make dingy little huts in the corners of the warehouse or used to build more scaffolding so kobold homes could begin to stack on top of one another. Slowly but surely, the center of the warren was becoming more open, a perfect meeting place or market square. They really were turning this warehouse into a tiny city. A Kobold neighborhood, cramped and probably strange-looking to the bigs, but a neighborhood nonetheless.

Grunting from the raw feeling in his scars, Puck slowly stood. His blood-soaked tatters had been changed out and disposed of, and he was wearing a simple white shirt and knickers which were slightly too small. They were Ssylo’s clothes, he realized. Ssylo never shared his stuff. Puck smiled warmly. He never ceased to surprise him.

Emerging from under the stairs, immediately, Puck was inundated by well-wishers just waking from their nocturnal sleep on their way to work. He smiled and waved as they passed him by, but he didn’t spend much time dwelling in conversation. He slipped up the stairs and instructed Dungeness not to let anyone else up until he returned.

He walked along the catwalk, smile widening. He was excited to see Ssylo again. He had been so worried about him that the sense of relief he felt was utterly overwhelming. He made it to the door and knocked lightly.

“What?” that familiar voice called out, clearly still half-asleep.

“It’s me,” Puck said, “Just woke up. Can we talk?”

Puck heard other voices within, hushed tones, and then giggles. Of course. The twins were in there with him. Puck rolled his eyes but smiled regardless. Soon, the door opened and Akki and Poe emerged. As soon as they saw Puck, they both froze, serious expressions on their faces, before they launched themselves forward and, without any words necessary, hugged Puck tight. They then disengaged and ran past him, leaving the door open.

Ssylo was putting some clothes on, seeming happier than Puck expected for someone up way too early and who had just had to kick two of his lovers out of bed. Even so, he seemed to hum slightly as he buttoned up a set of blue silk pajamas and sat down on the bed.

“Hi Puck,” said Ssylo, “Close the door.”

Puck nodded and did as he was told. He then walked forward and took in the room. He saw that the glass from him smashing Ssylo’s vanity had been cleaned up, and he felt a pang of embarrassment that he had lost control so much, but even so, Ssylo was home. Nothing else mattered. He joined Ssylo on the side of the bed and, before saying anything, hugged his brother.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Sorry?” asked Ssylo, confused as he raised his arms to return the hug, “What for?”

“I should have been here, watching you. I shouldn’t have let them take you.”

“They were invisible. You wouldn’t have done squat.”

“Still,” Puck said, pulling away, “I knew it was the cult. I knew the cult would figure out you were a chosen and try to sacrifice you again. I should have been here to stop it.”

“You were out avenging Gruk. And Mr. Penshkaatzi. Some of the others who go to the Silver Scale heard about him and seemed sad. He seemed okay, for a big person.”

“I guess…”

“Plus, you got your new friends,” Ssylo teased, pinching his brother on the side of his snout, “The Green Dragon everyone keeps talking about.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. He ain’t a threat to you y’know? He couldn’t lead his way out of a paper bag.”

“You know that, sure, but I’m not sure the rest of the warren does,” Ssylo snapped, huffing slightly. However, he let it go and continued, “But whatever. Doesn’t matter. He’s on our side. He’s helping.”

“And you should see the place they’re letting me stay!” Puck said, suddenly, “It’s huge, gold everywhere, and a petting zoo in the back.”

“Of course you would get excited about a zoo. You make friends with anything with a pulse.”

“And you’d stick your dick in anything if it let you. Which one do you think is more harmless?”

This jab seemed to land harder than Puck intended, and Ssylo blinked his eyes, turning his snout down to point at the floor. Puck’s smile faded.

“What?” he said, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all… uh…” Ssylo stammered. This must have been serious. Ssylo never stammered. “I just got to talking with the twins last night.”

“Yeah?”

“They… I mean, they don’t really understand, I think? Maybe they’re just going along with it ‘cuz I’m the leader and they think they have to, but… uh… I asked them to move their stuff up here. Y’know. Move in with me. Kinda live together, just us three.”

“Oh,” Puck said, “And what did they say?”

“Of course, they said yes! And I’m really happy! I’m just…” Ssylo began, before he forced a sigh and turned away from his brother, “I’m nervous. I was perfectly happy just sleeping around before, but… something about those two is just kinda… sweet, y’know? I wanna keep ‘em safe. Maybe… keep ‘em to myself. Akki’s gonna lay an egg soon and, uh…”

“She is?”

“It’s mine!” Ssylo said, excitement clear on his face, “My first egg! At least the first egg I know of. I’m sure some of the kids in the pile were my fault and that always felt a little weird, but I… Is it weird that I want to take care of this one on my own?”

“Yeah, it’s weird. The nurses ain’t gonna like it. You’re supposed to leave it up to them, so everyone grows up the same.”

“Well, they got tons of kids to worry about. I want this brat to be, uh, mine. Ours, with Akki and Poe. Like a family. I don’t know where I got that. It feels weird.”

“It is weird,” said Puck, “But it’s a nice idea. You’re more like a big person than you let on.”

“Am not!” Ssylo barked, pushing his brother hard on the shoulder, “I just want to make sure this kid’ll be okay. Maybe he’ll have powers and I can, uh, teach him. Honestly after the cult got me again, I felt like I’d lost a lot more than my life. I didn’t get to tell the twins how I really felt. So, I told them, last night. Now I just want to know if they understand or not.”

“They might not. I barely understand. We’re Kobolds,” said Puck, “You’re kinda something else.”

“I go back and forth between loving that and hating it.”

“Well, I like you how you are, so don’t go changing too much,” said Puck, “I’m leaving tonight to head back to the mansion. Are you going to be fine here?”

“Ain’t I always?” Ssylo quipped, but a moment later realized how ridiculous he sounded, “Er, yeah. I got sloppy, so from now on we run a tighter ship.”

“Good,” said Puck, before he hopped off the side of the bed and tapped his chin, “I guess if Akki has your egg that would make me… an uncle? Never thought about it before. I might like being an uncle. Maybe I can teach them how to swing a sword.”

“Don’t you dare!” snapped Ssylo, shaking a fist wreathed in icy power, “They’re gonna learn magic, see?”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Puck said with a smirk. Then he laid a hand on Ssylo’s shoulder and gave him a squeeze, before he turned and began to walk off, “Keep the warren safe. Later!”

“Don’t tell me what to do, candle-ass!” Ssylo answered.

Both kobolds laughed, and with one last wave, Puck left out the door.

\--

Hotspur – or rather, Hellena – sat demurely at dinner, rough hands hidden away by white silk gloves, her muscles de-emphasized by the cut of her bodice and the draping of the tulle in her skirt. She was quiet – she didn’t often have much to say to the sorts of people her mother invited to parties – and enjoyed the meal. She had to admit, sore as she was from the other day’s exertions, an evening at a dinner party was a welcome distraction. Even so, there were still things that bothered her about last night.

That half-dragon had said something. Auldina. Nobody seemed to have noticed, too preoccupied with making sure the kobolds were alright, but she had thought to look it up later. It wasn’t a word in any language she researched. She had hoped to figure it out on her own. The inclusion of Balthezar on the team meant most battles were decided with magic more often than weapons, and the presence of Caliban and Puck meant she wasn’t even necessarily the strongest one in the group anymore up close and personal. Pequod knew what he was doing inviting this rabble into their little understanding, but still, it was more than a little disheartening. She knew that Pequod or Balthezar could likely solve this riddle in an instant, but her pride was on the line. Still, she would have to swallow her pride eventually.

“What do you think Lady Hellena?” a man’s voice cut through her thoughts and she looked up to see an old human – Lord Jeroboam – asking her a question.

“Hm? I’m sorry. My mind was a mile away,” she said, smoothly, with perfect accent and grace. She had learned in her life that the color of her skin and the size of her teeth meant she had to be twice the lady just to get even half of the respect of others of her station, and so her manner when she wasn’t playing the part of Hotspur was impeccable. “What are we talking about?”

“Rumors, my lady,” Lord Jeroboam said, “I shall try to explain again, slowly.”

She did not let the grimace show on her face. She had been told often that her face is frightening when she does not smile.

“Please do.”

“Oh no, spare the lady the gory details,” said another man sitting to Jeroboam’s left, a Mr. Grigori, a merchant, but a wealthy one, influential enough to be invited to a party at the household of a lord of Waterdeep.

“I assure you, I live for the gory details,” she said, slyly. A titter of uncomfortable laughter rippled up and down the table.

She looked to her left and saw her mother, sitting prim and proper to her left. She was pale and blonde, with a warm look upon her impeccably smooth face. Hellena was taller than her mother, almost perfectly in-between her two parents in size. The Lady did not show her annoyance on her face, but a sidelong glance told Hellena that she was on thin ice.

“Well, it’s to do with the cult. You know? Dragon cultists.”

Another man spoke up, “I thought they were wiped out!”

“Cults are never fully clensed,” Jeroboam insisted, “They just go underground, to try again later. They found bodies this morning. Some sort of ritual gone awry.”

“Please, Lord Jeroboam,” insisted Annabelle Eagleshield, “Is this really appropriate conversation for dinner?”

However, Hotspur couldn’t master her face. She stared at Lord Jeroboam with a piercing gaze and asked, “What happened?”

“Adventurers, most likely,” he answered with a sniff, “Caught wind of the cult, took justice into their own hands, and now there’s a pile of burnt corpses. Nobody can pin down who it was done it. It’s not the last of the cult by a long shot either. Whoever did them in has their work cut out for them.”

“Oh.”

“Lord Jeroboam.”

The old man seemed sheepish, but only on the surface, “Your daughter seemed interested, my Lady. I couldn’t just leave her in the dark.”

“I think that’s quite enough talk of cults and violence,” said her mother, “Urthgar!”

“Yes, m’love?” the big orc said. Hellena smiled as she glanced over at the huge, green man stuffed into a tailcoat with two frightened looking lords trying not to look like the presence of the orc bothered them.

“I saw a new arrival in the kennels. I take it you went outside of the city.”

“Aye! A baby bear. Been tryin’ to find its mama, but I got a feeling she were killed by hunters.”

“Urthgar likes to collect strays,” said Annabell with a genuine smile, “I hope we won’t permanently have a pet bear running around.”

Hellena was glad for the subject change. She wondered if what Lord Jeroboam had said was true. Were there other cultists in the city? Surely they wouldn’t go after Ssylo again after finding out that he had a group of capable protectors, but even then, one never knew with the zealous. She knew she had no time to waste, and so she dabbed her mouth and placed her napkin upon her plate.

“Hellena,” Annabelle said, “Sit down. Dinner isn’t over yet. You have not been excused.”

“Mother, I…”

“Listen to your mum, Hellena,” Urthgar said, his own tone warm, but warning, “You can go play with the bear later.”

She considered simply standing and disobeying her parents but knew she couldn’t. It would embarrass her mother to be disobeyed so publicly. She settled back into her seat and reached for a glass of wine to sip while she waited for dinner to end. Her leg bounced impatiently, but her wide dress covered up the tic. As soon as she was free, she had to find Pequod. This wasn’t the time for pride. She had to find out who or what Auldina was, and fast. This business with the cult wasn’t over.

\--

It had taken forever for that stodgy dinner to end, and Hellena had left like a shot from a crossbow as soon as her mother had excused her. She rushed upstairs, her heels clicking on the marble floors as she ran, one hand on the railing and another with a handful of her dress to keep it out from under her feet. She rounded the corner as soon as she hit the landing, all but sprinting down the hall towards her bedroom. She had intended for today to be a day of rest, but knowing that cultists were still out and about meant there wasn’t time for them to sit on their victory.

She slammed the door of her room closed and immediately began working her dress up over her head and tossing it on the bed. She then got to work untying her corset and, all at once, she felt a wave of relief as she felt her muscular stomach and back able to relax and decompress. She kicked off her shoes then and rushed around to collect Hotspur’s pieces of armor. Her breastplate was still scuffed and scorched from the day before, but there would be time to buff it out later, and it helped the cover story if Hotspur was a little raggedy. Off came her petticoats and on came a pair of leather trousers held up by a thick black leather belt with loops for weapons, and a pair of chunky black work boots. She was halfway through undoing her corset completely when she heard a sudden knock on the door. She froze, staring at the door.

“What?” she demanded, before she realized there were likely still guests in the house, “Who is it? I am dressing.”

“It’s Dad!” the gruff voice of Urthgar called in, “Tell me when I can come in. We gots to talk.”

She blinked her eyes, staring at the door. She wondered what her father could possibly want. She decided that she had might as well finish dressing for adventure, and continued to take off the corset, and replaced it with a tight tunic, slightly smaller in the chest for support. As she sat down and began to strap on the pieces of her armor, she called “I’m decent. Come in.”

Immediately, the door to her room slammed open and he ducked his head to enter. She continued to strap on her grieves, one by one, and she smiled up at him.

“Glad it’s you. I was afraid mother had called for me.”

“Nah. She knows you got other plans.”

“Was I that obvious?”

Urthgar laughed. He had both of his hands behind his back and seemed to fidget nervously. The tailcoat he was stuffed into made him look ridiculous in Hotspur’s opinion. The nerves were odd, however. He wasn’t the type. Hotspur slowly stopped fiddling with the straps on her armor and stared up at her father.

“Dad?” she asked, “Something wrong?”

“Er… just…” he began, “I know yer mum’s worried about you. Ever since you started goin’ out I mean.”

“Dad…”

“Now don’t take that tone wif me!” he snapped, “She is! She’s worried sick. Hellena’s her little girl.”

“But Hotspur is yours,” she said, “You taught me how to fight.”

“An’ she taught you how to be a lady. That’s just as important!” said Urthgar, “I… I just wanted to talk about… y’know… Ugh… lemme start over.”

With that, Urthgar stepped into the room and took his arms from behind his back, revealing that he had something wrapped in brown butcher paper in his grip. It was clearly heavy, and even he grunted as he hoisted it up and laid it down on the girl’s mattress. He smiled at her sheepishly and began to explain as he unwrapped it.

“A little keepsake from the bad ole’ days before yer ma’ took over the war band,” he explained, with a chuckle, “I see what yer’ doin’ y’know? You got the whole two personality thing going on. By day yer’ Hellena Eagleshield, perfect human lady, and by night yer’ ruthless orcish mercenary Hotspur. That’s all been workin’ fine for you, but… well… I worry that yer’ not lettin’ yerself be… y’know, one person.”

With that, he finished unwrapping the package and her eyes went wide as she beheld the massive, jagged greataxe lying on her bed. It was recently greased and polished with care, and the haft had been recently touched up and repaired, but it clearly had some age to it. This wasn’t just any axe. This was her father’s axe.

“Dad…?” she said, quietly.

“Now, I ain’t sayin’ you should go wild an’ start worshippin’ Gruumsh one-eye or nothin’! In fact, don’t do that! It’ll only lead to trouble. No, I’m sayin’ that instead of splittin’ yourself between two worlds, I think it’s high time you figure out who you are and how you fit in, really. Maybe this’ll help.”

With that, he hoisted the axe again, barely able to pick it up with one hand. The heft of it scared Hotspur for a moment. If her father couldn’t lift it, then how could she hope to wield something like that. Even so, fear was unbecoming, and she held out her hands, and he handed it to her. To her surprise, her strength was the equal of the orcish weapon. She hadn’t realized until that moment just how strong she had become.

“It’s… beautiful,” she said, running a finger over the jagged blade.

“When me an’ Annie decided to have a kid we knew it’d be tough for you,” explained Urthgar, sitting on the edge of the bed, “Yer’ gonna be stuck between my world an’ hers for yer whole life. I see how them stiff-shirts downstairs treat you like garbage, no matter how hard you try.”

“Y-yeah. I’m well-aware, Dad.”

“Hey! Just statin’ facts!” he said, holding up one of his meaty hands in mock surrender, “I honestly dunno what the right answer is, but I know that splittin’ yerself up into two people ain’t it. It’ll work for now, but as you grow, I think you gotta figure out how to be one person. The best of Hellena and Hotspur together. You get what I mean?”

“I… I think so?” she said, her voice smaller than she meant, “But an orcish axe?”

“Everything you got – yer manners, yer looks, yer voice, yer poise – you got all of that from yer mum. Me? I gave you strength, an’ I taught you how to draw blood. You carry yer mum with you all the time on yer face – don’t gimme that look, you look just like her ‘cept with proper teeth! I just felt like… you could carry a bit o’ me around too. Maybe that’d help you down the line figure out how to mix us together and stand on yer own.”

Urthgar stopped abruptly, frowning as he felt the awkwardness sweep over him, and he looked away, not sure if he was even making sense. However, he soon heard his daughter lean the axe on the wall and looked up just in time to see her rush up and throw her arms around his thick neck in a warm hug.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she said, “I… I won’t forget. I’ll never forget. I carry around more of you than you think I do.”

“Yer jest sayin’ that,” said Urthgar, “Yer better’n me, sweet pea. I bet if you figured it all out and got past all the bullshit, you could be an even grander lady than Annie. An’ that’s sayin’ something.”

“I… I sometimes think I like being an orc better than I like being a lady,” she said, quietly into his pointed ears, and he laughed a moment later, pushing her off and gripping her by the shoulders as she looked deep into her eyes.

“Good,” he said, “But you ain’t an orc. You ain’t a human neither. Yer somethin’ else. It’s up to you whether you end up better or worse than the two added up together. Y’unnerstand?”

“I… I do…” she said, steeling her expression, “If anyone can do it, I can!”

“That’s my girl!” he said, before he blinked his eyes and stood quickly, “But, uh, I gotta go. I said I was gonna step out an’ use the gents’.”

“Better go, then. Mom’ll be mad if you disappear for too long.”

“Don’t want that!” he said, “You got your temper from her, y’know?”

He tweaked her nose, and she laughed, smiling around her tusks as she watched him go. As he opened the door to leave, she called after him.

“Don’t let the stuffed shirts get you down, Daddy!” she said, “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweet pea,” he answered, “An’ if another blueblood asks if I paint the green on I might go back to the family business if you know what I mean.”

With that, he gave one final wave and left the girl’s room, leaving her alone with the massive greataxe. She turned to look at it, taking in the dark grey metal – nearly black, nasty, and cruel looking. She loved it. She sat down and finished putting on the rest of her armor, always with an eye on that jagged-looking axe. Finding a way to unite two halves into more than the sum of her parts, eh? She had to think long and hard on that. It was a challenge her father had given her, and she refused to give up before she had figured out how to fulfil it.

Soon, she strapped the axe to her back, tied back her hair into a messy ponytail under her helmet, and walked out the door, looking every bit an orcish warrior.

\--

It was a surprisingly chilly night as Pequod stepped out of the Silver Scale. He had just delivered the news to the proprietor. She had naturally already heard from her sweets, but Pequod thought she might like to hear it from her, and what’s more he wondered if Mr. Penshkaatzi had any family to contact. She wasn’t aware of any. The poor guy really was all alone.

Pequod held the cloak around him close. Cold blood was inconvenient on nights like this. He would be happy to find another bar – someplace where he felt a little more catered to, as much as he enjoyed being waited on hand and foot by pretend-thralls.

He began to walk, heading towards the dock ward. Yes, that would be more his speed. He just needed someplace to lay low until the Eagleshield’s little party was over and they didn’t have to pretend to be civilized, polite company anymore. If he was right, he was sure…

“Hey, Pequod! There you are!”

… That she would have the same idea.

“Ah, hello,” said the tortle, turning to see whether she was dressed for business or pleasure, “Hotspur. What brings you out here in full battle drag?”

“I wanna talk,” she said, “Thought I’d find you at the scene of the crime. How’d the madam take it?”

“She was a trooper. Her husband was a blubbering mess, though. No extra pay, before you ask, but if you want free drinks and don’t mind kobolds swarming around, that’s the place to go.”

“Fair enough, I guess,” she said, “I did some thinking.”

“Oh?”

“About something that half-dragon bitch said,” she explained, “Auldina.”

“That… sounds familiar.”

“It should,” she said, “That was the last thing she said before you stabbed her to death. Trouble is, I can’t figure out what it means. I looked up draconic dictionaries, I tried to look up names of dragons… nothing.”

“Sounds like a job for the librarian,” said Pequod.

Hotspur grimaced, and said, “I thought I’d give it a try myself. We were doing just find without the dragonborn and his little pets.”

“Careful, Hotspur. You’re starting to sound jealous.”

“I…” she stammered, “I’m not! Just want to… I mean… Shut up! The point is this cult business isn’t over. I heard a rumor over dinner that that cell might not have been the last of the cult. If there’s more, then maybe that means…”

“They might still make a play for Ssylo,” muttered Puck, “and for us, if it comes out that we’re the ones who raided their safehouse.”

“So. Any ideas?”

Pequod thought for a moment. Auldina. It didn’t sound like anything in particular to his ear. It meant nothing in Aquan and was clearly not Common or Elvish.

“Think it’s a name?”

“I think so, but I haven’t found anything specific that it might mean.”

“Probably means its cult stuff. We really should bring Balthezar in on this. Even if he doesn’t know what it means, he’d at least know where to look.”

“Ugh!” Hotspur grunted, “I guess…”

Pequod stared at her, before he sighed deeply and began to walk. He had a bar in mind she would probably like. She hurried to follow and the two of them were soon walking shoulder-to-shell.

“I’m already having to teach the dragonborn what working in a team means,” said Pequod, “I don’t want to have to give you a refresher course at the same time.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, he’s your project. Whatever,” she said, “Fine. We’ll ask him for help. Happy?”

“Only if you are. There are other people we can ask,” said Pequod, “Besides, I think he and Caliban are out on the town right now.”

“I know for a fact you ain’t got a library card, Pequod.”

“No, I got something better,” said Pequod, “A winning smile, and first-name basis with every scoundrel in the city.”

At this, he turned towards a bank of buildings to his right and looked up. Hotspur followed the Tortle’s gaze and found a sign declaring the dingy bar underneath as the Horny Toad. Within, they could hear laughter, and a scuffle, and Hotspur couldn’t help but smile.

“Knew you’d like it,” said Pequod with his own smile, “Come on. Let’s ask around.”

Walking in, immediately, they saw a half-orc fly through the air, crash into a table and writhe around in pain. A cheer arose, and Hotspur followed the trajectory of the half-orc’s flight to see what had happened. She was pleased to see that a small brawl was roiling in the middle of the floor, and the owner was lazily crying out for them to cut that shit out. Hotspur squinted her eyes, trying to figure out who was coming out on top when another body was tossed out of the crowd.

“Good timing,” she said.

Pequod sighed, and walked over to a table in a shadowy corner, as far away from the brawl as possible. Hotspur felt the itch to dive into the fight and try her hand at it, but knew they were ultimately here for business first. Once they arrived in the corner, Hotspur was surprised when she finally noticed that someone was already sitting there.

It was a woman, human, although she looked to be at least in her 70s, with silver-grey hair tied up into a tight bun, and an old-fashioned high-collared black dress with a cameo decorating the bodice. It was lacy at the sleeves and collar, and all in all this woman resembled someone’s grandmother more than she resembled the sort of rogue who would be hanging around this sort of establishment. However, she noticed Pequod and, with a light expression of surprise, raised a hand in greeting. In her other hand, she leaned heavily on a long cane.

“Why, if it isn’t Pequod,” the woman said, before she gestured to the chairs across from her and continued, “Sit! Sit, dearie!”

Pequod immediately sat, but Hotspur, confused, simply stared at this old lady, and then at the Tortle.

“Pequod, who…?”

“Don’t stand on my account, Miss Eagleshield,” the woman said with a smile, “This isn’t the sort of place for manners.”

Hotspur was surprised, and her eyes went wide. “How’d you know…?”

“I know a lot of things. Society mavens gossip ever so much. Please, sit. Allow me to introduce myself.”

Hotspur stared at the woman for another moment, before she grunted and sat down heavily with a piercing glance in Pequod’s direction.

“My name is Beatrice Shortbread, my dear. Miss Shortbread if you don’t mind.”

“Shortbread…?”

“Miss. Shortbread,” she corrected, warning her with her tone, reminding Hotspur immediately of her mother. The old woman then leaned forward with a smile crinkling her cheeks. “So. What do you have to ask me, Pequod.”

“Well, ma’am,” Pequod began, “It’s not me. It’s actually Hotspur here.”

“Hotspur? Funny name.”

“I prefer it to ‘Miss Eagleshield,’” Hotspur quipped, “But yes. If you’re an informant.”

“Oh, not an informant. Just an old gossip.”

“In a place like this?”

“Why not?” she asked, “Gossip is gossip. A lady’s drawing room and a seedy bar have that much in common.”

Hotspur stared hard at her. She was baffled by this Miss Shortbread person but knew this wasn’t the time to go asking unnecessary questions. She had a mission to see through.

“We wanted to ask you some questions,” she said, “I heard a rumor myself, about cult activity in town. Hear any gossip about that?”

“Oh, constantly!” said Miss Shortbread, “There was a big commotion yesterday, apparently. You two wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”

“We neither confirm nor deny,” Pequod said with a smile, and Miss Shortbread smiled back, knowingly.

“Well. Those nasty dragon cultists have been making some trouble. Ever since you exposed that nasty Mr. Vin’nal as a dragon cultist in disguise there’s been an… increase in scrutiny. Whatever you did it’s making them desperate to get something going.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know a location, would you?” asked Hotspur, “Another safehouse? Somewhere we can clean out?”

“Safehouse? No. They cover their tracks too well,” she explained, “I wouldn’t be able to track them unless they made a move as well, like your little friend Puck did.”

“You know Puck…?”

“I know everyone, dearie,” she said with a warm smile.

“Enough showing off, Miss Shortbread,” said Pequod, “You ever heard of someone named Auldina?”

“Auldina?” she repeated in a hushed whisper. It sounded like a name, and unknown names often carried a certain power to them that was dangerous to wield without care. “No.”

“Damn it…” muttered Hotspur.

“Language…”

“You’re not my mother, lady!”

“Enough!” Pequod snapped, before he continued to speak, “It’s got something to do with the cult, we think. One of them said it as we were… interrogating them.”

“I understand. Maybe I don’t know but my associate might.”

At this, she turned her head slightly, and with a smile like the most devilish imp, she stared hard into the brawl as it began to wind down. Hotspur and Pequod both turned to follow her gaze and saw that standing in the middle of the brawl, there was a black figure, draped in orange-colored robes.

She was standing on one scaly, yellow claw, her wing-like arms splayed out, ready to take any more challengers. The other foot was raised, as if she was about to kick someone. She was covered head to toe in black feathers, and her beak was hanging open underneath beady, half-closed eyes. She waited, frozen, for a moment, before she realized that no one else was coming at her. All the threats were lying on the floor, knocked out or squirming in pain. As they watched, the raven-woman hiccoughed, and stumbled off her leg, landing hard on her other and nearly tripping over a body before her. She wandered drunkenly towards Miss Shortbread’s table and began to grope around for a seat.

“Ah, good, you finished just in time,” said Miss Shortbread, “Footstep, this is my good friend Pequod, and his friend Miss… forgive me… Hotspur.”

The raven was silent as she stared hard at Pequod and then Hotspur. She was swaying slightly, obviously soused, and Hotspur frowned openly at her. All of a sudden, the raven opened her beak, first at Pequod and then at Hotspur.

“Pequod,” she said first, and Hotspur was surprised to hear Miss Shortbread’s voice issue forth from her beak. “Hotspur.”

“What the hell?” Hotspur muttered.

In a completely different voice, one of a man that Hotspur didn’t recognize, the bird then said, “Lemme introduce myself…”

She stopped saying words then, instead issuing a sotto voce noise which Hotspur barely heard. She grimaced again and then turned to Miss Shortbread.

“What was that?”

“Oh, forgive my friend here. Soft Footstep is a kenku,” she explained, placing a hand on the Kenku’s shoulder to steady her, “She has an unfortunate affliction common to all of her kind. They can’t speak, except to mimic other people speaking, or noises she hears. She’s quite good at it.”

“… quite good…” said Soft Footstep.

“Uh-huh…” muttered Hotspur, “And how’s this supposed to help us?”

“Why not ask?” asked Pequod, “Couldn’t hurt.”

Hotspur turned to sneer in the tortle’s direction but breathed in and calmed herself down. He was right. No reason not to try.

“Soft Footstep, was it?”

“What…?” said the kenku in Hotspur’s own voice.

“Okay! That’s too weird!”

“Hotspur, calm down.”

“I… Ugh!” she muttered, before she spat out, “Have you ever heard of something or someone called Auldina?”

It was as if the Kenku had sobered up immediately. She stopped swaying and turned her face to stare directly at the half-orc. She was silent for a moment, narrowing her eyes, and clicked her beak open and closed a few times.

“What?” asked Hotspur.

“Where…?” the Kenku asked in a strange woman’s voice.

“What? Where what?”

“Where…?” repeated the Kenku before she switched to a different voice, of a scared-sounding man, “… Did you hear that?”

“One of the cultists. A half-dragon,” Hotspur said, quickly, leaning forward, “She was trying to sacrifice one of our friends to Tiamat.”

“… Chosen,” Soft Footstep said.

“Yes! The bitch said something about him being a chosen.”

The Kenku thought for another moment, crossing her arms. She then turned towards Miss Shortbread, and in an ornate, intricate language, she began to speak with the old lady. Miss Shortbread smiled and answered back. Hotspur didn’t recognize the language. It certainly wasn’t Elvish. She turned towards Pequod with a quizzical expression, and the Tortle simply smiled and shrugged his shell.

After a moment’s conversation, the Kenku fell silent and continued to sway, sitting back in her chair. Miss Shortbread then began to speak.

“Pardon our language, but she needed the words to explain,” she said, “She does know something about an Auldina. Her monastery had some lore related to it.”

“Lore?”

“Oh yes. Soft Footstep here was trained by a… well, lets just say a shadowy organization,” she said, with an amused smile, “They appreciate their secrets, and tend to collect them. She heard something about someone named Auldina. It has to do with dragons as well.”

“That’s it then! Tell us!”

Miss Shortbread shook her head. “I’m afraid that’s above your pay-grade, dearie. Soft Footstep doesn’t just give such things away for free. It might put her on the outs with her monastery. Or at least more on the outs than she already is.”

“What? What do you mean? You know, but you won’t tell us?” cried Hotspur.

“Keep your voice down, Hotspur,” muttered Pequod.

“No! We need to know. Our friends are still in danger.”

“And we’re in a quiet corner of a shady bar, so keep it quiet.”

In a harsh whisper, Hotspur continued, “Fine. Then how about a hint? This is important!”

“Secrets must be kept,” Soft Footstep said in an elderly man’s whispering voice, “It must be so.”

“Well, that’s not good enough,” hissed Hotspur, clenching her fist on the table, “People have already died for this. More people could die. People I’m fond of.”

“Secrets must be kept. It must be s…”

All of a sudden, the half-orc snatched her hand forward, gripping a handful of the kenku’s orange robe. She pulled the raven in close, until her tusks were almost touching her beak, and she hissed right in her face.

“Tell me.”

There was a tense moment then, as the Kenku and Half-orc sat frozen. Miss Shortbread and Pequod both stared at the duo, wondering when they should say something. Pequod was the first to move, raising a hand and clearing his throat. That was all the trigger Soft Footstep needed. All of a sudden, she struck, gripping the half-orc’s arm before she could react and standing up quickly. Before Hotspur knew what she was doing, the Kenku jerked her arm behind her back and, using her heavier weight against her, tipped her chair over and tossed the Orc bodily across the room.

Hotspur gave a short cry as she found herself flying. She landed hard, rolling on the floor, but was alert and awake as she shot up to her hands and knees and then to her feet. She saw the Kenku approaching, slowly, raising her wing-like arms in an aggressive posture. Hotspur smiled. Good. It was a good time to try out her new axe.

She reached behind herself, gripping the haft of her new weapon and pulling it from the place on her back where it was strapped. She gripped it harshly, feeling a wellspring of primal, violent joy rush through her. This was her father’s weapon. This was her people’s weapon!

Giving her most primal cry, she rushed forward, ready to swing her axe at the kenku. The entire bar watched this play out with muted amusement. Pequod, in particular couldn’t help but smirk as he saw Soft Footstep nimbly dodge out of the way of the attack. He thought perhaps she could use a little encouragement, and so he reached into his pack to retrieve his Chultan djembe.

A sudden cold feeling at his neck startled Pequod, and his eyes lowered to see the blade of a sword held to his neck. He clenched his jaw, and slowly looked over to see Miss Shortbread smiling warmly, the hilt of the sword in one hand and the now-hollowed-out cane in her other.

“I’m more than aware of what you’re capable of, dearie,” she said, “I don’t think we need any theme music.”

Pequod’s smile finally faded all the way. Hotspur was on her own.

The Kenku, after dodging to one side, launched her own attack, aiming a kick into the half-orc’s side. She stumbled, groaning in annoyance. She hit hard for someone using her feet, but not that hard. No sooner had she thought this, however, when the Kenku moved like a blur, aiming a palm-strike right into the half-orc’s face, and then another chop directly into her shoulder. Both blows smashed into her faster than she could react, and she stepped backwards, feeling her nose immediately beginning to bleed. She was so fast! How could she be so fast?

“Damn it,” she muttered, before she spat on the floor, leaving a bloody spot on the floorboards. She then hoisted her axe once again. One slice. That raven’s slight form couldn’t hold up to being hit by even one strike from this axe. All she had to land was one blow.

She screamed again, sounding shrill as she did, and swung in a wide, diagonal arc towards the Monk. However, Soft Footstep was ready for her, and all she had to do was bend over backwards, her beak inches from the swinging blade of the axe.

“Hold still!” screamed Hotspur.

“You are not ready, young one,” the kenku said in the voice of the whispering old man she had mimicked before, “How can you expect to seek the true way if you cannot even find it within yourself.”

“Shut up!” she cried out, stepping forward. However, as she did, the Kenku began to move her hands in a strange, complex dance. A strange sight began to appear before Hotspur’s eyes, as she thought she saw the feathers of the kenku’s hands float away from her hands. All of a sudden, the half-orc’s vision began to blur, and then darken. She widened her eyes, looking around, and soon found herself floating in a sudden plane of pure darkness. She could hear laughter beyond the darkness, and she wanted them all to shut up. She clenched her jaw hard, and, trying to remember where the kenku had been, she sliced out. However, she found nothing, and the blade of the axe buried itself in the floor.

“…Not ready…” the voice said again, from behind her, before another strike came, smashing against the back of her head.

Hotspur growled, pulling the axe from the floor and immediately whirling around, trying to land at least one blow. It continued like that for several seconds. Hotspur attempted to attack through the darkness, but was only rewarded by another punch, kick, or strike against her body. She could feel herself tiring out quickly. She had to turn this around, and soon.

Suddenly, she could feel tears coming to her eyes, and she froze up. No. Not now. Her frustration was welling up, and her throat was constricting. With her father’s axe she should have been unstoppable! After losing to that damnable green dragonborn twice, she couldn’t handle losing now, one on one, with a damn bird!

Another strike against her side caused her to cry out. She felt the ache in her side. She was losing, and fast. She knew she couldn’t waste time with pity.

It was then she remembered her father’s words. She wasn’t an orc. Not really. This wasn’t her weapon in the same way it was her father’s weapon. Trying to use it like an Orc would get her nowhere. But how could she use it?

She breathed in deeply, realizing she had allowed herself to lose control. She tried to be a berserker, and she was not in any way a berserker. She had learned well the use of the berserker’s weapon, but she was still a civilized sort. She had enough of her mother in her that she had to follow that impulse as well. She closed her eyes – it was useless to keep them open in this damnable darkness – and breathed in deeply. Find her. All she needed was one precise strike.

She waited for a moment, using all of her senses to try to track this Kenku in the midst of this darkness. All of a sudden, she heard her, behind her. All of a sudden, she opened her eyes, turned, and, with one precise stroke, slashed out. She realized that she had given a short, sharp cry as she slashed out, and she felt something welling up inside. She felt stronger, somehow. The precision of nobility soon gave way to a certain controlled savagery as the resistance from the body in the darkness fought against her axe-head, she pushed harder, until the axe once again buried itself on the floor. It was a massive blow, worthy of the heartiest of her father’s race, paired perfectly with he grace of her mother’s.

All at once, her vision began to clear. She blinked her eyes as she realized the magical darkness was lifting, and soon, the kenku came into view. She was still standing, rigid, but upright, with a bright red slash of blood all the way across her chest, from the shoulder to the thigh. The Kenku squawked, and the room seemed to freeze as everyone saw what had transpired in the darkness. After a moment of tension, the kenku sank to her knees, and then to the floor.

Hotspur stared at the monk on the floor, and soon gave a grand roar of triumph. In answer, the rest of the bar roared back at her, crowing her victory. After that, she reached down and grabbed hold of the kenku by the collar of her robe and lifted her up bodily. She really was light, and the half-orc soon had the unconscious creature back in her chair.

“Heal her,” said Hotspur, sitting and breathing hard. She was smiling, staring down at the blood on the tip of her axe. She had discovered something. Something wonderful. A gift from her mother and father.

“May I, Miss Shortbread?” asked Pequod, reaching slowly for his djembe.

“By all mean,” said the old woman, her sword already hidden back away in her cane, “You fight very well, young lady. Soft Footstep underestimated you.”

“She better not make the same mistake again,” muttered the half orc.

Soon, Pequod tapped out a rhythm and hummed out a healing refrain of music. The Kenku’s wound glowed for a moment, closing itself up, leaving only the long, lacerated robe and the black, bloodstained feathers underneath. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Awake, are you?” said the Kenku, quietly, in that whispering man’s voice.

“Yeah,” said Hotspur, before she grabbed a handful of the robe once again, “Lets try this again. Tell me what you know about Auldina, or you get another taste of my axe. Understand?”

“You have proven your worth,” the kenku said in a new voice, this one strong and masculine, “Well done.”

“Less making nice, more information.”

“Secrets are for the strong,” said Soft Footstep, before she once again turned to Miss Shortbread and nodded her head. The old woman smiled and cleared her throat.

“Forgive my friend, Hotspur. She had to know if you were the one who could make best use of the information.”

“Wait… that was some kind of a test?”

“In so many words, yes,” she said, “A test you passed. She told me about Auldina before the battle. It’s apparently some kind of dragon.”

“A dragon…?” asked Pequod.

“Not just any dragon,” she continued, “An eternal, immortal dragon.”

“Ain’t dragons already immortal?”

“Dragons may die if one kills them,” explained Miss Shortbread, “This one… doesn’t. He is merely reborn. You’ll have to let my friend go if you wish to hear more.”

Pequod and Hotspur both turned to stare at one another, nerves clear. Hotspur let go of Soft Footstep, and she leaned back, before reaching for the nearest mug of beer and draining it into her beak in one go. She then resumed swaying drunkenly.

“As I was saying. Auldina is apparently some form of dracolich, but not a normal kind. He lives on not through some kind of immortal body, but by possessing the bodies of wyrmlings as they are born.”

“Oh hell,” muttered Hotspur.

“Oh, hell indeed,” the old woman repeated, “Apparently Auldina was vanquished less than a hundred years past. Assuming he took a new form, it would likely be young, but still very dangerous.”

In that language they did not recognize, Soft Footstep began to ramble on, and Miss Shortbread listened patiently. At the end of the talk, she translated.

“He’s a vassal of Tiamat, seeking to use his own immortality to revive his beloved queen. Apparently, he needs the blood of five half-dragons as components of a ritual, one of each color of Tiamat’s five heads. He would then use his own body as a vessel for the Dragon Queen’s return, bestowing upon her the ability to reincarnate after death in the same way he can. My goodness.”

“…Not good…!” Soft Footstep said in a young woman’s annoyed sounding voice. Hotspur realized it was hers.

“Okay, so how to we find him? If he’s young, then maybe he’s not at full power yet! We can beat him!”

“Young dragons are still a bit no joke, Hotspur,” said Pequod.

“What? You chickening out now?”

“I’m not afraid, I’m just being pragmatic. Maybe we should hail down my contacts in the group at large. Figure out…”

“And by the time they decide to do something it might be too late. We know what they need with Ssylo now. Who knows how many others they’ve killed already trying to replenish those four we…”

She stopped short, with a sidelong glance at Miss Shortbread, who was smiling sweetly at her. Hotspur breathed in and out in a sigh.

“Thanks Miss Shortbread,” she said, “And you too, Footstep.”

“What do you plan to do?” the human asked, “I’m afraid this is a little too robust for my old bones.”

“We hunt,” she said, “Hunting down a dragon.”

“Where, though? We don’t know where this dragon is!”

“No, I suppose not.”

At this point, Soft Footstep spoke up in an unfamiliar voice, “Immortality is a symptom of arrogance. Never trust an immortal.”

“Arrogance…?” Hotspur muttered, before she looked down at the table, and then at her hands. They were rough and covered with Soft Footstep’s blood. She had been arrogant a moment before and was led into a poor situation for her. If they could do something similar for this Auldina bastard…

She stood, suddenly, smiling. She had a plan.

“C’mon Pequod. The party’s got to be over by now,” she said, “I have to ask my mother something.”

“I see those wheels turning,” the tortle said with a smile, before he bowed his head to Miss Shortbread and reached out to take her hand, “Miss Shortbread, it’s always a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Pequod,” she said, allowing him to take her hand and kiss her gently. She smiled in approval. With that done, the tortle and half-orc hurried out of the Horny Toad and out into the cool Waterdeep night.

\--

Balthezar had become, he thought, at least proficient in reading the moods of his lizardfolk lover. After tonight, wandering around town seeking out places where music was played and where they didn’t get too many odd stares for continuing their odd polka lessons, Balthezar was sure that Caliban was likely the happiest he had ever seen him. Over the course of the night, the lizardfolk had undone most of the buttons of his shirt, and Balthezar had rolled up his sleeves for him, and in the dragonborn’s opinion he looked positively rakish. Balthezar felt almost embarrassed dancing in the same clothes he always wore, but Caliban didn’t seem to mind. They had not stopped touching scale-to-scales for seemingly the whole night, ever since leaving the library and running into the first inn they found where music was playing.

As they walked home that night, hand in hand, Caliban walked in hitching half-steps, as if he was still dancing. They had moved on from the polka a few times in the night. When a song in three-time came up, Balthezar had taught Caliban a simple waltz, and by the time the song was over Caliban had gotten it in his head at least well enough to perform well, but whenever Caliban could count the beats up by four, he was always on his feet with a polka. It was clearly his favorite, and Balthezar had come to love it as well.

As Caliban danced down the street, Balthezar smiled as he watched the lizardfolk’s footwork. He wouldn’t call it good. His toes suffered many blows over the course of the night from his partner’s heavy steps, but even so, it was wonderful to see him so enthusiastic for something when he was normally so reserved.

Suddenly, in the middle of a rhythm, Caliban turned and snatched one of his claws out to grab Balthezar’s hand and curled his arm around the dragonborn’s back in a tight embrace, pressing their fronts together, and he began to dance down the street with Balthezar in tow. The green dragonborn laughed as he was literally swept off his feet by the active dance of his lizardfolk partner, but eventually he managed to follow Caliban’s lead. It had become a lot easier to hear the rhythm of the universe that night, and he wondered if it was because he had already been so surrounded by music and revelry.

“Caliban, please,” Balthezar said around a laugh, pulling his hand away, “I’m tired. We’ve danced enough.”

“I could dance more,” said Caliban, and Balthezar believed him. With his hand no longer held by Balthezar’s he instead curled both arms around his lover’s waist.

“As much as I would love to, we don’t all have your constitution. Besides, we’re almost back to the Eagleshield residence. I don’t think the nobility would appreciate two rabble-rousers doing the polka up the avenue.”

“Don’t care what they think,” Caliban said, quietly as his feet slowly calmed themselves and he leaned forward, his snout pressing against Balthezar’s neck.

Glasses askew, the dragonborn smiled and reached up to caress his lover’s face, but ultimately pulled away from his embrace, taking his hand and walking on. Disappointed, Caliban followed, but both walked with a spring in their step and a certain anticipation in their bearing. It was clear what they both wanted, by the heaving of Balthezar’s breath and the way that Caliban’s eyes traveled up and down the dragonborn’s form. Eventually, after a few more agonizing blocks of walking, they made it home to the Eagleshield’s front gate. It wasn’t locked, and Balthezar slipped in first, holding open the door for the lizard, and he quietly closed it behind them.

They walked up the front path, lined by trees and flowers and lit by the oil lamps from the street. Balthezar took that moment to sneak a look at his lover, admiring the build of his chest through his half-buttoned shirt, and the strong grip he had on his hand. He adjusted his glasses, swallowing audibly as he pointedly looked away. Later. There would be time enough for all that later, once they were inside out of the evening chill.

They had been instructed by the household to go around the side entrance so that they did not give the Eagleshields any undue embarrassment by being associated with such rabble, which Balthezar found annoying. However, as they slipped into the servant’s entrance and into the small mud room between the garden and the kitchens, Caliban found that he could control himself no longer. He took Balthezar by the shoulder and gave the dragonborn a long lick up the side of his neck. Balthezar shivered and couldn’t find the strength to try to convince Caliban to have patience.

With Balthezar in his arms, pliant and gasping, Caliban leaned his lover against the wall of the mudroom, leaning with him as they swayed together, in half-remembered time to long silent music. The lizardfolk pressed their hips together, his tail swaying in excitement, and he attacked the dragonborn’s neck and face with his tongue. Soon, Balthezar took his cue, sticking out his own shorter tongue and planting a lick up the side of his lover’s snout.

“W-we…” he began, reaching up to hug the lizardfolk’s shoulders, all but hanging from his lover’s body, “W-we really should… go upstairs. They… they wouldn’t... The kitchen is… right there. It’s unsanitary.”

“I don’t care,” said Caliban, “I want Cloudgazer.”

“And… I want Caliban,” he answered, breathing deeply, reaching his face up to press against the lizard’s, “I love you.”

Caliban paused for a moment, reacting to Balthezar’s sudden, tender words, but soon took that as permission as he peeled the dragonborn’s robe open and reached inside, caressing the scales underneath and making his lover gasp at the pleasure of his touch. If he didn’t stop this, surely, he would be sitting naked in this mudroom, and what would he do then? He smiled as his mind answered that question for him, and he couldn’t help but begin to finish unbuttoning Caliban’s shirt and quickly shucked it from his shoulders.

It was all whispers and caresses from then on. Balthezar found that Caliban had something he hadn’t had before. Passion, and need. Tonight was different somehow, and the thought of it sent a thrill through the dragonborn’s spine.

“Hey,” a sudden voice said, “Move over. I’m walking here.”

Both lovers froze, before they turned their heads over. They saw no one standing in the open doorway leading outside, until they tipped their gazes downward, and saw Puck standing, looking equal parts amused and impatient.

“Puck!” cried Balthezar, pushing Caliban away and closing his robe, “W-we didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly,” Puck quipped, “Couldn’t make it to the bedroom?”

“I… we…” Balthezar stammered, “We were… detained.”

“Cloudgazer and I went dancing,” said Caliban, nodding his head, “We pokered.”

“Dancing?” asked Puck with a laugh, “You two?”

“What’s so funny?” demanded Balthezar, crossing his arms to keep his undone robe closed, “Anyway, er…. I think we should… step inside, I think. Yes. It’s very late and…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Puck said with a smirk, “If you want.”

Puck pushed past his two friends then, and Balthezar was not far behind. He reached back to grab Caliban’s hand and together they walked, following after the kobold. Eventually, Balthezar’s nerves turned into a small giggle, which petered off into a contented smile.

Soon, the three of them emerged in the main hall, and Puck wasted no time heading upstairs, followed then by Balthezar and then Caliban.

“How is Ssylo?” asked the dragonborn.

“He’s fine. Great, actually,” said Puck with a smile.

“And the burns? I’m sorry I couldn’t heal you more promptly. I might have been able to ease more of the scarring.”

“I gotta say, I kinda like ‘em, so don’t worry about it!” the Kobold said, “Better you used your magic knocking the cultist out of the sky. Alls well that ends well, right?”

“I suppose so,” said Balthezar, before he seemed to draw strength from his own words and smiled, “No. I know so. Thank you, Puck.”

“What for?”

“I really must learn to be surer of myself. I’ve had quite a lot of success since joining Pequod’s party here. I don’t feel like I’ve grown, but I clearly have. We all have. You should have seen Caliban cast those spells.”

“Spells?” Puck said, “You, Caliban?”

The lizardfolk was clearly impatient, but he nodded his snout and searched for the words.

“I knew of them before,” he said, “Just needed to learn the ritual.”

“Totemic magic. Very simple, but rather effective. I may write an essay. I quite enjoyed looking it up.”

“I like dancing more,” insisted Caliban.

Balthezar laughed, “So do I.”

“Well, I guess I’ll let you lovebirds, er, get to it, then. Stay hydrated…”

“There you three are!” came the voice of Hotspur from in front of them, “Where the hell have you been?”

Standing in the middle of the hall was Hotspur, with Pequod standing beside her looking amused as always. She was wearing a silk robe over a nightshirt and long, flowy pyjama bottoms patterned with birds. Eagles, Balthezar realized. Her black hair was down and flowing down her back and shoulders, and they all saw for perhaps the first time the length of her hair when it wasn’t braided, stacked up under a helmet, or tied back.

“Forgive us, of course,” said Balthezar, “Caliban and I stayed out rather late. I didn’t think you would be expecting us.”

“Well, I was!” she snapped, before she turned in a huff and began to storm down the hall, “Come on! We got business.”

“Business? We just ended business. Can’t we take a break?” called Puck.

However, Pequod was the one to shake his head, as he said, “Cult business, Puck. It isn’t over.”

Both Balthezar and Puck’s eyes went wide as the tortle said this, and they watched as he turned his shell to them and followed Hotspur. Caliban groaned, growling, but when the dragonborn walked on to follow the rest of the party, Caliban went as well. The cult was bad.

Hotspur led them all into an upstairs game room, where a small billiards table was set up, alongside tables for dragonchess or cards, and shelves of drinks. Immediately, the half-orc girl had wandered over to the liquor cabinet and served herself a generous portion of whiskey. She then, by habit as a lady of noble breeding, poured a finger of good drink for each of them. She wasn’t a gracious enough hostess to serve the drinks, as she wandered away from the tray to stand by a mantel, forcing the other four to pick their glasses up for themselves.

“What’s this all about?” asked Balthezar, “I thought we ended this.”

“Is Ssylo still in danger? I just left him! Don’t tell me…”

“I wouldn’t think they would go after the same target twice, at least not in the same way,” said Hotspur, “I wanted to tell you all that I may have figured out something about the cult, or at least the cell we kicked the crap out of. Their leader is still out there. The half-red wasn’t it.”

“Who?”

“Auldina,” she said, before she belted back her whiskey. She clenched her jaw at the sting, and it brought a smile to her face. “Heard of it?”

No one seemed to for a moment. Balthezar looked down at the floor, suddenly lost in thought, while Puck and Caliban simply seemed lost and just sipped their drinks.

“Knew you wouldn’t have,” gloated Hotspur, “It’s a…”

“That’s Celestial, isn’t it?” asked Balthezar.

“Wh-what?”

Balthezar looked up, with a smile on his face, “Celestial! The language. I can read some basic Celestial. If I’m correct it translates to… eternal… unending…?”

“Immortal!” Hotspur said, quickly, before Balthezar could steal her thunder, “It’s a name. An immortal dragon who reincarnates himself after death. Kind of a lich.”

“A-a Lich!” Balthezar said, his eyes widening, “We can’t fight a lich!”

“Why not?” asked Puck, “Some undead guy, right?”

“A powerful undead mage! More powerful than we can ever dream of,” explained Balthezar, “I’ve… encountered liches. They tend to seek out knowledge. My master scribes often had to set up wards and defenses to keep the collection out of their hands.”

“Well, it’s not exactly that kind of lich,” Hotspur cut in, “At least I don’t think so. This guy’s M.O. is when he dies, his soul invades a dragon egg and he becomes that Wyrmling. That’s the bad news. The good news is he has to grow up to be powerful again.”

“S-so how old is he?” asked Puck, “Dragons are no joke, Hotspur.”

“You’re all a bunch of babies!” she snapped at them, furrowing her brow, “He’s less than a hundred years! Young! A young dragon can’t be that threatening.”

“Dragons always dangerous,” Caliban cut in then, “Even the babies.”

“Not you too…”

It was then that Pequod raised his drink and cleared his throat. He was leaning against a bookshelf and nodded his head towards Hotspur, “The point is, we’re in this deep. Whatever this Auldina guy is, its up to us to deal with him. He’s got a weak spot, though.”

“His pride,” Hotspur said quickly, “If we can lure him onto our turf, we might be able to gang up on him.”

“We don’t even know his color,” muttered Balthezar, “We have no idea what we’re going up against. You know that, right?”

“But we do. We know what he wants, and we know what he’s been doing to get it. We just follow the pattern and find our way there,” said Hotspur, “He’s been creating half-dragons because he needs one of each color. To create a half-dragon he needs either a dragonborn, or a sorcerer with a draconic bloodline to get a source of dragon’s blood. Whatever half-dragons he’s got made already he needs to keep, especially since we killed his red, his green, and his blue, and stopped him from getting a white. That leaves his black.”

“Gruk’s murderer?” asked Puck, with a sudden look of hatred, “I thought he would have been executed by now.”

“He will be. The date’s set,” said Pequod.

“And if I were him, I’d be trying my best to get him back,” said Hotspur, “If we let him know where the half-black is, I bet that dragon bastard would jump at the chance to grab him.”

“So, we leak the half-black’s location so the dragon will come after him…” said Puck, quietly, as if he didn’t fully believe what he was saying.

“And kill the dragon.”

Theh room ran silent then. Fear was evident on everyone’s face, even Pequod, who was at least able to mask it with a sip of his drink. Hotspur frowned.

“What?”

“It’s a big ask, Hotspur,” said Balthezar, “A-A dragon? Fight a dragon? On purpose?”

“We’ve all been growing stronger! I feel stronger than I ever have. I think we could…”

“I don’t doubt we’ve all grown, but… this seems foolish! We should get help! Try to…”

“No!” snapped Hotspur, “We don’t need help. The more people we let in on this the more likely it is that the dragon hears of the trap and doesn’t fall for it.”

“And what if we aren’t strong enough? What if we all die?”

“I don’t need this cowardice from you, Balthezar!” Hotspur cried, stepping forward, “What if? What if? If we die, we die! The point is to stop the cult.”

“I’m just saying…”

“I know what you’re saying,” she said, walking right up to the dragonborn and jabbing a green finger into his chest, “Be a team player, Balthezar Cloudgazer.”

Balthezar stared into Hotspur’s face, furrowing his brow, before he reached up, pushed his glasses up his snout and said, “No. You be a team player.”

“What?”

“It’s not a unilateral decision. I’m not saying we shouldn’t try. I’m saying we should be prepared,” he said, his voice low, “And we should all be in agreement before we say we’re going to go after something this big. It’s not just your call on this, Hotspur.”

Hotspur was stunned to be talked back to like this, from Balthezar of all people. She stared into his face as he continued his speech.

“It’s fine if we don’t call in anyone else, but that means we have to be ready for it when it does happen. Pequod? When is the half-black’s execution planned?”

“A week from now,” said Pequod, “He’s in a prison in the castle ward. There’s a ward on it, so no one gets in or out without permission.”

“And we lure him into that prison to kill him,” said Balthezar, “How?”

“First we need to get in,” said Puck, “That means we need permission.”

“You can leave that up to me,” said Hotspur, recovering from Balthezar berating her, “I can have mother invite one of the wardens in for dinner one evening.”

“There are pins you wear,” said Pequod, still leaning against the bookshelf, “If you’re not wearing a pin, the ward bounces you. The warden can get us visitor’s pins. All we would have to do is get one extra and send it where it needs to go. We make it look like the cult got it for him.”

“But where?” asked Balthezar, “We don’t know where this dragon lives, do we?”

“We find out the color first,” Caliban said then, “If we know the dragon’s color, we will know where he likes to make his den and send this pin there.”

“You can let me worry about that,” said Pequod, “Hotspur knows I’ve got connections.”

“Gods, we’re actually doing this, aren’t we?” Puck muttered, “Going after a dragon…”

“To keep your brother safe,” said Balthezar, “Along with the rest of the kobolds.”

“Yeah,” the kobold said, before he nodded, “I’m in.”

“I am in too. This beast must be vanquished,” said Caliban.

“Obviously we can’t let a dragon run around Waterdeep. There’s supposed to be a ward around the city keeping dragons out, but something’s gone wrong,” said Pequod, “The harpers will want to know what that is.”

“And you, Balthezar?” asked Hotspur.

The green dragonborn nodded his head, then, before he explained, “Yes, but only if we can steel ourselves for the biggest confrontation of our lives. We need to spend this next week at work, learning and training all we can. We simply aren’t strong enough.”

“We’re strong!”

“But stronger than a dragon? I think not,” said Balthezar, crossing his arms, “I say yes, as long as that’s our priority.”

Hotspur looked around at each face surrounding her at that moment. The whole group agreed. She had expected it to be more of a fight. She realized that these four people trusted her judgement. She hoped that she wasn’t betraying that trust.

“Get some sleep,” she said, finally, “We’ll start planning specifics in the morning.”

Caliban reached up, then to snatch Balthezar’s hand from where he had crossed his arms. The Dragonborn turned, puzzled at this sudden rough manner, but realized what it was about a moment later as he saw Caliban gaze up and down his body with a clear hunger. Bashful all of a sudden, Balthezar blinked his eyes, and his mouth went dry, and he turned his head to look at the rest of the group.

“Er, goodnight,” he said, smiling, and Caliban all but pulled him out of the room. By the sound of Balthezar’s giggles as he disappeared down the hall, they were off to enjoy themselves.

“I’m off to bed as well,” said Pequod, “Anything you can do in the night, Puck?”

“I got some things I could try. I could check out this prison the half-black is at. Case the place.”

“Just don’t get caught,” demanded Hotspur.

“I won’t!” cried Puck as he ran out the door.

That left only Pequod and Hotspur. She seemed pleased. He stared at her for a moment, smirk on his face as he touched his finger to his chin. She soon realized his stares and huffed, turning away from him.

“Goodnight Pequod.”

“You did good, Hotspur,” said Pequod, walking out of the room without another word.

Hotspur felt a swell in her heart as Pequod said this. Yes. She had done well. She awakened new power and figured out what it was she could do about the cult. Breathing in deeply, she too walked out of the game room and towards the north wing where her bedroom was. Tomorrow was a big day.

\--

The week passed by slowly, as each member of their little band prepared as well as they could for their confrontation with the dragon-lich Auldina. Puck, true to his word, spent the first day casing the prison all day, as Hotspur asked her mother to invite the head warden of the prison for dinner. Annabelle Eagleshield was suspicious about her daughter’s sudden interest in prisons, but with a little help from Urthgar, she relented, and summoned the man.

The prison was a literal fortress in the middle of the city. Puck could find no weaknesses in the walls or cracks in the gates, and he concluded that once something got in, it wasn’t going to get out again.

Balthezar and Caliban were inseparable for the whole week, although it wasn’t for the sake of pleasure. He had chosen a weapon – a glaive he and Caliban purchased with their shares of the gold. Something he could use to deal significant damage, while staying out of direct confrontation with enemies. Caliban was familiar with long polearms – he was proficient in all weapons, as he had told Balthezar. His demonstrations for the Dragonborn’s sake were skillful and violent, and he wondered at the lizardfolk’s dedication to using only his teeth to fight. Caliban proved to be a surprisingly brutal teacher when it came to weapons training, and Balthezar found that at the end of each day, he was too exhausted for anything more strenuous than a gentle cuddle. Balthezar was, however, nothing if not a dedicated student, and he learned well what Caliban taught him.

Pequod, for his part, decided that his job was to find out where this dragon’s lair was. To do that, he needed to find another cell of the cult.

\--

“In there,” said Stelka the copper dragonborn, raising her hand to point towards a lonely-looking bar deep in the dock ward.

The dragonborn was dressed in long robes which obscured her form and color, and she stood next to Pequod, who knew that it was impossible to try to disguise his bulky shell without magic, and so he didn’t bother.

“You’re sure they’re in there?”

“I smell the stench of Tiamat’s corruption,” she muttered, reaching up with one claw to touch the holy symbol to Bahamut through her robes, “By my oath to the platinum dragon, you’ll find their ilk in there.”

“Then this puts us square,” said Pequod, walking forward, “Thanks Stelka.”

“Do you need help?” she asked, “You helped the kobolds twice now. Free drinks and one use of my divine senses is surely not enough for all you’ve done.”

“I work best alone in this circumstance. That’s why I haven’t invited the rest of my cohorts.”

“Well,” she said, looking worried, but she nodded, understanding all the same, “Next time you see Brother Balthezar, tell him to come into the Silver Scale. And bring that boyfriend of his.”

“You’ve heard of Caliban?”

“I heard about a dragonborn and a lizardfolk painting the town red a few nights ago. Or at least painting the town beige. All they seemed to want to do was a bad polka, whether it fit the music or not. No one would have paid attention if they weren’t so unique.”

“Polka?” Pequod said, laughing, “That’s just like that librarian.”

“I really want to show my appreciation, so you tell him to come in, understand?” Stelka all but ordered Pequod, and as the tortle walked towards the front door of the bar, he waved, smiling back at her, and entered.

It was called the Witch’s Tit, a curious place with a sign above the door depicting a small bird wearing a pointy hat and brewing some sort of potion. It was a rough place, rougher even than the places he usually frequented. The clientele was all what the people of Waterdeep might call “Monster” races. The Tortle felt quite at home as he looked around and saw lizardfolk, tabaxi, goblinoids of all stripes, full-blooded Orcs, and some other creatures who were obscured by long robes or hoods hiding their features completely. It was completely silent. Good. He was sure they could use some livening up here.

He approached the bar, then, not bothering with the flimsy-looking stools, and hailed the bartender – a weary looking Duergar dwarf who stared at him with milky-looking eyes.

“My good man,” said Pequod, “Beer.”

“Y’got coin in that shell of yours?”

“Depends, you got beer in those barrels or are you just going to wring out your beard?”

The Duergar laughed, his slate-gray skin wrinkling up over his grey-black beard as he grabbed a filthy pint from under the bar and quickly filled it with a dark, thick lager from the tap. Soon, Pequod had the drink in front of him, and without asking the price, stacked ten little silver coins on the table.

“This one is for the drink,” he said, taking each coin from the stack and placing it beside his beer as he spoke, “This one is because you laughed at my joke, and the rest are for some questions.”

“Ain’t in the habit of answering questions,” the Duergar sneered, his good humor evaporating at once.

Pequod simply smiled and said, “My good man, this is just the beginning. If I like your answers, perhaps I’ll buy another round. And If I buy another round, perhaps I’ll want to make a little more conversation.”

The Duergar eyed the stack of silver greedily. He seemed to lick his lips, before he leaned forward, squinting his eyes and saying, “Whaddya wanna know, Tortle?”

Pequod placed another couple of coins from the stack to rest next to his beer and asked, “Have you ever noticed anything strange? Specifically, people coming in or out. Looking like dragonborn, except with tails?”

The Duergar stared at the tortle, and then at the stack of coins. He was beginning to sweat. Good. Pequod knew he was on the right track.

“Ain’t seen nobody like that.”

“Are you sure?” asked Pequod, moving another coin to the second stack, “They’re very distinctive. Sometimes they wear these neat little hats that change your appearance.”

The Duergar’s eyes darted from the coins to look out into the bar, but only for a moment. That told Pequod what he needed to know about whether they were here or not.

“Y-yeah. I seen people like that,” said the deep dwarf, “Dangerous sorts. Not the kind worth just one gold piece of trouble, if you know what I mean.”

“We can come to that once I’ve finished my drink,” said Pequod, taking a small sip and replacing the beer on the counter, “In the meanwhile, maybe you’ve noticed something else? Signs or odd happenings, perhaps.”

“What… what kind of signs?”

“Oh, I don’t know… people coming in late at night? Gatherings of like-minded individuals? Religious types – and not the nice religions either. Maybe you see someone go up to a room upstairs and they never come back down again?”

“Say, who are you, Tortle?” the Duergar demanded suddenly, “You’re messing with dangerous souts here.”

“I’m aware,” the Tortle said, “And I believe your only stake in this is stacked up on the table here. If you answer me, it’s like I was never here, understand?”

As if to prove his point, Pequod took another coin from one stack to the other and smiled. There were only a few coins left in the first stack, and the Duergar eyed them jealously. Soon, he leaned forward, his greed winning out against his caution, and he whispered low.

“Five gold,” the duergar demanded, “I ain’t getting myself killed for anything less than that.”

Pequod smiled at the dwarf, and, silently, he picked up his lager and drained the glass completely, before setting the glass on the counter and then, with his other hand, he laid his hand down next to the stack of silver, revealing a small pile of shiny coin, which was gone along with the silver into the pockets of the Duergar’s apron soon after.

“Room five,” he whispered, “The robe and sacrifice set take up residence there. Revolving door of misfits, they are. Sometimes they got tails, sometimes they don’t. A lot of ‘em ain’t come in lately, though. I think they were those bodies on the rooftop down the street.”

“Anyone still here?”

“One of ‘em holds down the fort. He’s over there in the corner,” the dwarf then jerked his head towards the corner nearest to the door, where a figure in a robe sat in the dark, “I think he’s planning on moving on soon. If you intend to do something, don’t get blood on my floor.”

“No indeed, my good man. That isn’t my style,” said Pequod, “In fact, I wonder if you would like to hire me for the evening.”

“H-hire?”

“This place could use some music,” the tortle said, slinging his bagpipes around, “A rousing tune could make for thirstier patrons.”

The duergar wasn’t an idiot. He knew there was more to it than that. Still, he also knew this was an adventurer type, way above his paygrade. He couldn’t afford to get on this tortle’s bad side.

“Whatever,” said the dwarf, taking his gold and walking away.

Given permission, the bard stepped away from the bar and, moving close to the center of the floor, he cleared his throat and raised his hands for attention.

“Friends! It seems a tad quiet in here, don’t you think?”

There was a collective groan from many in the bar, but many had turned to look with curiosity, or even relief. The figure in the corner didn’t move at all.

“Well, how about we fix that? They call me Bourdain that do talk of me, a bard of scant renown, a long, long way from home. Have you ever been to the Snout of Omgar in Chult? I wouldn’t recommend it,” he said, tapping his shell, “but the soup is to die for.”

The groans intensified, before transitioning into laughter. There was an understanding between him and the audience now. They were at least a little warm. They wouldn’t start throwing bottles for at least a song.

“But I kid. I learned many things there. Jokes! Stories! I can cook a mean tuna fillet, even. But most importantly, I learned the universal language,” he declaimed, pulling from his pack his Chultan Djembe, holding it under one arm and giving it a beat, producing a sharp, hollow sound, “Music!”

It was then his performance began in ernest. He began to beat out an impossible rhythm on his drum, smiling as he did it with only one hand. It began fast, turning every head that wasn’t already looking, and very soon began to slow down, until there were moments between drumbeats, and finally a full second of dead air, which left the audience on the edge of their seat. Then, he began to sing. It was a throaty, tribal song in Aquan, the language of the Tortles. Pequod hardly remembered what the words even meant, but he always liked the sound of it, and his love and excitement was infectious.

Pequod had read the room well. Tabaxi and Lizardfolk far from home immediately smiled and bobbed their heads to the rhythm of Chult, while Orcs and goblinoids appreciated the driving beat of the drum. Other monstrous creatures in the bar without such a direct connection to the music took longer to captivate, but eventually, they too were enjoying the sound of the Tortle’s homeland, nodding their heads, tails, and tapping their paws, feet, or claws.

The song continued for some time when Pequod gave a nimble pirouette on the spot, paying attention for just a moment to the figure in the corner. His drumming became frenzied for another instant as he locked eyes and snuck words of power into the song which weren’t intended to be there. A moment later, he broke contact with the robed one, and went back to entertaining the crowd.

“You there!” a woman’s voice hissed suddenly, and the robed figure looked up from his drink. He saw a red half-dragon woman standing by his table, and, all at once, his eyes went wide. The robe fell from his head, revealing his own draconic face. He was colored blue and seemed astonished.

“Syldra?” He cried out, “I… I thought…”

“Not so loud,” the half-red hissed, “I’m not dead. They didn’t finish the job.”

“Oh…” the robed figure thought for a moment that this didn’t make sense, but he shook his head. She was standing right there, wasn’t she? It must have been so, “I see.”

“See the tortle?” the half-red said.

“Yes?”

“Show him upstairs.”

“Who…?”

“Don’t ask questions. You’ll know all you need once you get up there. Is there anyone else here?”

“N-no. Just me.”

“Wait until the end of the Tortle’s song, then follow me upstairs.”

“Y-yes Sister Syldra!”

“Keep. It. Down,” she hissed one last time, before she turned on her heel and walked away, soon disappearing up the stairs.

Pequod played through the whole exchange, although he kept the drums low, and he was thankful that the cultist was so excitable that he could have his illusion answer him back so well. No one else could see the phantasmal creature he had created in the half-dragon’s mind, of course. All they could hear was the driving beat of the drum. Even so, as much as he was enjoying his impromptu concert, he soon drew the song to an end.

“And that was it, my friends. Sorry to leave you so shortly, but that’s truly all I had time for,” Pequod loved the new groans which arose, this time of disappointment, “But fear not. Perhaps I shall return. Until then, whenever you think of sandy beaches, and humid jungles, think of me and my humble djembe, and smile.”

With that, he did what was expected of him and turned his drum upside down and began to circulate the bar. One song wasn’t enough to get him very much of course, but he managed to earn himself a few coppers. More importantly, as he circulated, he finally came around to the dark corner where the half-dragon sat, his hood back up.

“Alms for a humble artist making his way, sir?” asked Pequod, a knowing smile on his face.

The half-dragon stared up at Pequod, then jerked his head towards the stairway. Without another word, the blue creature stood and moved towards the stairs, following the phantasmal half-red. Pequod followed, giving one more wave to the crowd. He wanted to make sure everyone saw him go upstairs. This was all part of the show.

“You work for Syldra?” the half-blue muttered as they found themselves in the much quieter upstairs of the inn.

“You might say that,” he said, “Don’t know what she told you, but I’ve got some information you might like to hear. She said she’d let me talk to you alone.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“W-well… if Syldra says so. I… I thought she was dead.”

“This has something to do with that, yes,” Pequod quipped.

The half-blue nodded, thinking he understood, and soon pulled a key from a pocket and unlocked the door to the inn. As soon as he opened the door, Pequod could tell that more just this person had been using this room. It smelled of the unwashed bodies of several people, and clothes and belongings were strewn about everywhere. The half-dragon didn’t seem to notice. He lived in this place and his nose was blind to it. Pequod didn’t mind much. He only needed about an hour.

“Nice place you got here,” said Pequod, closing the door behind them, “I suppose you must be curious about who I am and why I’m here.”

“You could say that,” the half-dragon said, pushing back his hood. He had a cruel, chunky face, and he scowled at the tortle as he sat on the edge of his bed, “So? Talk.”

“I’m just the messenger, friend,” said Pequod, “The name’s Bourdain. I’m here to speak to… are the walls here safe from prying ears? I don’t want to say any names that are best not spoken before the time is ready.”

“The rooms on either side are empty,” said the half-dragon, “And the filthy Duergar doesn’t care. We’re safe.”

“Auldina,” said Pequod, and he enjoyed the look of sheer shock upon his face, “I was sent to fetch Master Auldina.”

“F-fetch? What do you mean?” the half-dragon said, “We were sent here to help him, weren’t we? We aren’t ready to leave Waterdeep.”

“Be that as it may, there’s an object of power right now in Chult. My master wishes to make a trade for something of Auldina’s.”

“O-oh?”

“A great dragon like him must have a hoard, musn’t he?”

“Well, of course!” the half-dragon said, boasting, “My master is ancient.”

“As is mine. Our masters are equals then. Praise Tiamat, perhaps we could work together.”

“B-but it would take a lot for our master to brook any interruptions. Our purpose here is no less than the revival of the queen of dragons herself.”

“Yes? And how is that going?”

The blue paused, looking away slightly, “Small setbacks, but I discovered that one of our leaders still lives. She mentioned that has something to do with you?”

“Indeed,” said Pequod, “My master is a great Cleric of the queen of dragons. We earned this audience with your group by raising your friend Syldra from the dead. Over the next few days we can return the rest of your dead members as well.”

“T-truly?”

Pequod nodded, “However, that still leaves the matter of your white… and the black who sits in jail as we speak.”

The half-blue grimaced and looked at the floor, “Jona was caught. He’s set to be executed. We’ve given him up for dead.”

“What if I told you that did not have to be the case?” asked Pequod, “I can deliver your master a way to free his cohort, and then you will have a near complete set. You can then focus on acquiring a white… something about a kobold with sorcerous power?”

“I’ve been instructed to let the kobolds lie. They have some kind of protectors hovering around them!”

“Pity. Still, we can cross that bridge when we come to it,” said Pequod, “In the meantime, I have an item, a pin, that I wish to deliver to the great Auldina. It will allow him access to the dungeon. Where can I deliver it? Do you have direct contact with him, or…?”

“I… I don’t. I know where he is but… Syldra is our go-between.”

“I see, then let’s call her back in, shall we?”

With that, the tortle dug his djembe back out of his pack and played a fast rhythm upon it once again, first looking at the half-blue, and then directing his attention towards the door. The charm came over him once again as he blinked a few times, before turning towards the entrance. He soon heard Syldra’s voice.

“What?”

Pequod answered is own illusion, “Our friend here… What’s your name again, friend?”

“Er… Alistair.”

The tortle wasted no time, turning back to the door, “Alistair says you are the contact between Auldina and your cell. Could you lead me to him?”

“Are you insane?” asked Syldra.

At this point, Alistair saw the door to the room open in his mind’s eye. There, standing hunched, was Syldra, although compared to how she looked downstairs she seemed different. All over, her scales were splotched and discolored, she was missing fingers from her right hand, and she entered the room with a limp.

“I’m in no condition to be running around town. I must rest.”

“By the Goddess, Syldra!” the half-blue said, standing, “What happened?”

“I died, you nincompoop,” she snapped, limping into the room and sitting down on a chair, “Those damnable adventurers clipped my wings. You didn’t notice when I was downstairs?”

Alistair furrowed his brow, confused. She hadn’t been injured downstairs, had she? Yes, she must have. He must not have noticed. Sheepishly, he sat back down on the side of the bed and said, “Sorry, of course.”

“Which means, I have to count on you,” said the illusion of Syldra.

“Me?”

“You’re the only one left,” she continued, “The rest will be about as healthy as I am once they’re back from the dead. That leaves you.”

“O-oh,” Alistair muttered, looking frightened, “I see. I… I am honored to take up this task. What must I do?”

“Bourdain will contact you once he’s gotten the trinket that will allow our master access to the prison. You must deliver the tortle to him.”

“A-a direct audience? Surely…”

“Don’t make me angry, Alistair!” snapped Syldra, “Just do it. His master is more powerful than us. I wouldn’t give such a request lightly.”

“Who… who is your master?” said Alistair, turning away from Syldra and speaking to Pequod.

However, the illusion of Syldra barked, “Don’t ask questions! Just do what I say. Understood?”

Grimacing in fear and annoyance, Alistair stared back at Syldra, before he breathed in deeply and nodded his head.

“Good. I’m going to go underground for the rest of the week,” she said, standing and limping back towards the door, “Don’t look for me. Once the rest of us are back on our feet, we can plan our next move.”

“Yes, Mistress Syldra.”

“Don’t disappoint me,” she hissed finally, before she exited the room, closing the illusory door behind her.

With one last strike of the djembe, the charm over Alistair’s mind faded, the memory of his conversation with Syldra seamlessly knitting with reality. He had a look of determination upon his face. Pequod felt almost sorry for the young half-dragon.

“When will you return?” asked Alistair.

“Within the next few days,” said Pequod, as he started to exit. However, he stopped, thinking for a moment, and turned back to the half-blue, “Forgive me. Cold blooded as I am, I really do need to ask.”

“What?”

“Should I dress warm when I go see your master?”

“Warm…?” muttered Alistair, before he laughed, furrowing his brow, “Not unless you want to die of heatstroke.”

That meant fire, and fire meant red, Pequod concluded with a smile. He nodded, and said, “Thank you Alistair. Goodnight.”

“G’night,” the half-blue muttered, already lost in thought. He looked far more alone than he did before, and he slumped forward, the weight of his sudden responsibility causing his shoulders to droop.

Pequod left the room, a spring in his step as he hummed a little tune. It was a red dragon, surely. That meant using no fire when the confrontation eventually came. That was all fine and dandy. He was sure neither he nor Balthezar particularly specialized in fire, so it would be a non-issue. He walked down the stairs, gave a little wave to the Duergar, and left the bar.

\--

It only took Hotspur a day to procure the badges needed to get them into the prison. It was as simple as telling the warden they suspected an attack upon the dungeon before the execution of Gruk’s murderer. Cult members had the means to pierce the barrier around the prison, and her group needed to be able to pass through the wards to defend the site of the execution. She asked for seven passes – one for each of her friends, and one for Dungeness the crab. She did not tell him that the extra pass was for the dragon himself.

The passes were simple tin badges – unremarkable to look at, but Balthezar, curiosity overcoming him, sensed a simple abjuration upon them. They were keys to some form of arcane lock, he presumed. Armed with that information, Pequod left again the next day, to meet up with Alistair and perhaps find out more about this Auldina.

They met at the Witch’s Tit but did not stay there. It seemed that Alistair had packed up everything that was his and seemed intent to move on from there, knowing that his group was likely compromised. When he met with Pequod, it was in the guise of a stocky human man, and as they met, he tipped the invisible hat upon his head to let the tortle know the game.

“Ready to go?” asked Pequod as he saw Alistair approach the bar.

“Yes,” said the disguised half-dragon, “I must warn you not to do anything strange. Master is temperamental.”

“I understand,” said Pequod, smiling. He finished his drink and soon the two of them left the bar.

The journey was long. Alistair lead the Tortle through the streets of the dock ward, ducking into alleys, doubling back and crossing over his own path many times. Pequod understood completely – he had to keep this location safe, presumably, it made sense to show caution. The Tortle followed, memorizing the way as he went.

Soon, the two of them came to a small, ramshackle hut near the docks. Alistair glanced backwards to see if the Tortle was still following, and upon seeing him, he walked inside the hut and held the door open for him. Pequod nodded his head in friendly thanks and, soon, walked in.

As if a lantern had been lit, the whole quality of the world changed in an instant as he walked through that door. He blinked his eyes at the sudden visions of wealth and beauty surrounding him. He found himself suddenly in the foyer of a grand mansion, decorated all over with depictions of dragons molded into the marble and stonework. He looked back and saw the dock ward still existed outside of the door, until Alistair closed the door behind him. If he didn’t know any better, he was inside of a magnificent mansion. For the first time, Pequod wondered if they really were in over their heads if their enemy had access to this kind of power.

“Come on,” said Alistair, “He knows we’re coming. He will see you in the ballroom.”

“There’s a ballroom? Well!” Pequod answered, “Lead on!”

Alistair nodded and approached a door in the back. He reached up and whipped the hat of disguise from his head, revealing once again his true form. The Tortle wondered if that human guise was what he had looked like before his transformation. He didn’t have time to ask before the half-dragon opened wide a set of ornate double-doors and stood next to them.

“In there,” said Alistair.

“You’re not coming with?”

“He will see you alone.”

Pequod felt his nerves rise, although he knew that whether or not Alistair was there made no difference. He was alone deep in enemy territory now. He had to play the part of Bourdain the dragon cultist now, because his life literally depended upon it. He walked into the ballroom.

It was the largest room he had ever seen. The roof was impossibly high, the dancefloor shone with perfect care, and all around carved dragons stared down at him as he wandered in, the click of his claws echoing in the silence. He noticed how warm it seemed to be in there, as if he was walking through a humid jungle. He looked around, however. No dragon.

“Hello!” he called out, “Here I am.”

All of a sudden, a deep, piercing voice made itself known, echoing off of the walls, making it impossible to tell where it originated from, “Are you Bourdain?”

The voice was full of spite and a barely concealed contempt. Pequod took an instant dislike to it.

“I am,” said Pequod, “Am I speaking with the great Auldina?”

“So you are,” the voice answered, “State your business quickly. I was in the middle of a feast. Pray to Tiamat you do not join me for dinner.”

“Aye, of course,” said Pequod, “I have a gift. A way for you to rescue one of your compatriots. My master hears you have sustained heavy losses recently. This will help you to recoup your losses, I think.”

“And who is your master?”

“She prefers not to reveal herself,” said Pequod, “But she lives in Chult – a dragoness who has heard of your mission here. She wishes to help.”

“Then show me this… gift.”

Nodding his head, the tortle reached into a pack at his side. From within, he drew a small, tin shield and held it up.

“If you pin this to an article of clothing, you may come and go freely into the Waterdeep dungeons,” said Pequod, “Your servant Jona is set to be executed in two days time. My mistress suggests respectfully that you spring him.”

“Walk into the den of my enemy,” asked the dragon, “You suggest foolishness.”

“Surely a powerful ancient dragon such as yourself will have the strength to do it.”

“Do not taunt me, turtle! I would prefer not to announce myself before the time is right.”

“Then go in disguise,” said Pequod, “Your minions seem adept at it. I assume you are as well.”

There was a rumble from the room. The voice seemed to primp and bristle at the implication.

“Leave the badge. I will take it.”

“Can do, your honor,” the tortle said, laying the badge upon the ground.

“And now, get out.”

That was his cue to leave. Pequod turned quickly and walked back towards the doors. He escaped through them, his heart beating, and Alistair was there to greet him.

“It is done?”

“Yup,” said Pequod, “I’ll leave first. You count to thirty and leave. If anyone asks, you never met me.”

“Bourdain who?” the half-dragon muttered with a smirk.

Pequod smirked right back, before he walked to the front door of the magnificent mansion and left, finding himself under the overcast grey skies once again. He breathed in the cool sea air, and sighed, before closing the door to the mansion behind him and watching as it seemed to disappear into a shimmer of magical light, and then fade to just a minor glow.

“Clever,” he muttered. It would be useless to report the location of this hut. Likely the dragon would move the mansion before he made his next play. Even so, the pieces were all set. All that was left was for the game to begin.

\--

The day before the execution, Hotspur burst into her room, wincing with every step she took. It had been a long day. Her mother was making her pay for that impromptu meeting with the prison warden by inviting a parade of young men to the manse. She had been forced to waste the whole day – when she could have been training – to entertain a parade of mediocre noble boys who had come to gawk at the big half-orc lady. She groaned, slamming the door behind her and kicking off her shoes, before launching herself into bed to get them off the floor. She had tromped miles and miles worth of city blocks in a pair of simple workboots, but one evening on her feet on those torture devices and she was finished.

She hugged a pillow, aware that she was wrinkling her dress rolling around on her bed, but she didn’t care. She wanted to sleep. It was going to be a long day tomorrow, and she was excited for it. Her plan was going off without a hitch. She turned her head to stare at the badge on her dresser, and finally managed a smile.

Eventually, this charade would be over. It was clear none of those nincompoops were even interested in marriage with a half-breed. A few of them were indimidated. Some were even attracted to her, gods forbid, but she could tell it was all hollow. Her mother had spoken with their mothers to try to arrange something before they were embarrassed by their own bachelorhood. They were the dregs of noble life, unmarriageable second-sons and disappointments not fit to clean her boots, let alone marry her. She wasn’t sure what was more insulting, that she had to entertain those louts all day, or that their presence here meant that she was de-facto one of them.

She growled again. She refused that logic immediately and felt a strong desire to get out of her dress. She didn’t want to hang around in armor, either. She just wanted to be herself today. Hellena. Not Hotspur. Not Lady Eagleshield. Hellena – the young woman she had felt shine through when her axe had cleaved through that Kenku. The young woman her father believed was hidden within her, waiting to be unleashed.

She stood and rushed over to her closet. What did she feel like wearing? Despite everything, she didn’t feel like trousers, although she liked how she looked in them well enough. It occurred to her that nobody ever got to see her legs. She had worked hard on her whole body, legs included, and she dug through her wardrobe, trying to find something – anything – that was short and flattering, but not flouncy. She had enough of flounce.

Tossing clothes across the room, her frustration mounted. Nothing in her closet was right. None of it. It was as if there were two people living in this room. On the right, some elvish princess had hung up all of her prettiest, pinkest gowns which looked awful with her green skin, and on the left, some little upstart teenager had hidden all of the most mannish, chunkiest leathers and work clothes that could fit her. Something had changed. She thought she had been happy, keeping her wardrobe like this, but all of a sudden, neither side appealed to her. Neither of these girls was her anymore. She felt different. Older, perhaps? She wasn’t sure, but she realized she had not been happy about this for some time. This was just the first time she had noticed.

She finally gave up and grabbed something. A thick leather jacket cut for a man, a simple collared shirt, and a pair of canvas pants. She tossed them onto the bed and began to undress, frowning.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and she groaned again, rolling her eyes.

“What?” she called out, not bothering to stop undressing. She was soon in her underwear and, at her own pace, she pulled on her shirt first, buttoning it up all the way. She looked at herself in the mirror, frowning, and undid the top few buttons. She realized there was silence on the other side of the door then, and she cried out again, “What is it?”

“It’s me,” a rough voice called.

Caliban? She stared at the door in confusion, furrowing her brow. What was Caliban doing here?

“What do you want, Caliban?”

“I want to talk. I want to talk about Cloudgazer.”

“With me?” she said with a laugh, before she shook out the pants and leaned on the edge of the bed as she pulled them on, “What for?”

“Because I heard you spent the day searching for a mate. You have experience. I wish to ask questions.”

Her cheeks flushed. Had word of the visits from the suitors spread to the others? She clenched her jaw. If Pequod found out he would never let her get away without humiliating her.

“It’s been a long day, Caliban,” she said, not bothering with the leather jacket. She wasn’t going out anyway. A shirt and pants were fine. “Can this wait?”

“We are battling tomorrow. I gave Cloudgazer a rest from training for the day. I want to talk.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk.”

Caliban was silent for a moment, before he spoke up again, “Then you will listen, and I will talk.”

She turned and stared at the door, before groaning, and lying back on the bed. “Fine! Get in here!”

Immediately, the doorknob turned, and the lizardfolk entered. He came in snout-first, as if he was sneaking in somewhere he was trespassing, and his eyes darted around, circling the room in opposite rotations, before focusing one on the clothes strewn about the floor and the other on her.

“Were you attacked?” he asked, opening the door with obvious alarm.

“No,” she snapped, “Close the door behind you.”

He did. He entered fully then, and pushed the door shut behind him. He was wearing a pair of loose trousers but hadn’t bothered with a shirt. His posture was hunched and uncomfortable, and he never went far from the door.

“So?” Hotspur demanded, sitting up, “What is it?”

Caliban didn’t move at all, as if she was a predator and he was hiding in plain sight from her, but eventually, he stepped forward, tilting his head.

“I came because I want advice.”

“Okay,” she muttered, “Puck’s room is on the other side of the compound. You two seem like chums.”

“He is not useful to ask this,” said Caliban, “Neither is Pequod. His kind mates for a season and then die once their eggs are hatched. That is not the experience I wish to know about.”

“What experience are you talking about?”

“I wish to ask…” he began, “About love.”

Her jaw went slack, and she squinted her eyes at him, before she couldn’t help herself and laughed. It was a trumpet blast of a guffaw, and she fell backwards back onto the bed.

“Oh gods, I don’t need this right now!” she cried.

“I do not see why you laugh. It is not funny.”

“No, it’s hilarious,” she snapped, before she sat up again and then stood, gesturing vaguely towards a chair on one end of the room while she opened a drawer and began to dig around. “Sit. I’m going to need something strong for this.”

Caliban crept over to the chair and, carefully, sat. Soon, Hotspur pulled a bottle of liquor out of her drawer – good Waterdhavian bourbon. She uncorked the bottle and, not bothering with a glass, she took a slug straight from the bottle before she walked over and passed it to the lizardfolk.

“Here,” she said, enjoying the warmth spreading through her, “I needed that. So do you.”

Caliban stared at the bottle in his hands, before he too took a drink. He nestled into his chair and, cradling the bottle, he focused both eyes on her. Still, he was slow to find the words to ask.

“Well?” she demanded, “If you’re gonna ask me something, ask!”

“I am trying to find the words,” he said, “Do not rush me. I can’t think fast.”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, but he seemed ready a moment later, when he took another swig and placed the bottle on the floor.

“Balthezar has said he loves me,” said Caliban, “Many times now, he has said it. I like when he says it, because he looks happy whenever it is said. I like it when Cloudgazer is happy.”

“Okay.”

“Is this worrisome?” asked the lizard, “To fall in love after mere weeks? I am worried for Cloudgazer.”

At this, her eyes widened slightly, and she frowned, before saying, “I won’t say it’s healthy, but you two seemed to have hit it off pretty good. I don’t see why you can’t work it out.”

“I have simply seen that your kind – people who feel – they take a long time to understand those feelings. Cloudgazer decided he loved me quickly. I worry it is not real, or that Cloudgazer has betrayed himself by loving me.”

“Betrayed himself?”

“If he loves me, what if the right person to love came along, and he cannot be with them because of me?” said Caliban.

“And how do you know you’re not Mr. Right yourself?”

Caliban was silent at this, and answered, “I do not know. I do not think that would be possible. I cannot love him.”

“But you’re sleeping together.”

“I… enjoy spending nights with Cloudgazer. He is warm, and tender. One does not need love to enjoy someone’s company, do they not?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Hotspur, “I don’t know. I’ve never been in love.”

“You haven’t?”

“No. I’ve had gentleman callers, but none I’d ever consider even sleeping with, let alone marrying.”

“I suppose my question is… is it right to… keep Cloudgazer?”

“Like a pet?”

“As a partner.”

“I dunno. Do Lizardfolk mate for life or something?”

“No. We do not. That is why I am considering the question,” said Caliban, “My people pair-bond for a season, perhaps, but it is… temporary. I do not think Cloudgazer realizes that. Our time may be limited.”

“Why? It’s not like you know anyone else. Why not just stay with him.”

“You said yourself at dinner, when I attacked you,” said Caliban, “I am pretending. Or at least I am attempting to pretend, because I want to be equal to Cloudgazer. I want to love him. I want to keep him, but… if that is not fair, I do not want to stand in the way of him and someone who may truly love him back.”

“Well, if you want to love him, just love him, I guess?” Hotspur said, scratching her head, “I don’t know if I really get the difference between love and pretend love. I’ve known lots of married noblemen and ladies who didn’t seem to love each other in the slightest.”

“But Cloudgazer…”

“Listen,” she said, walking forward. There was real concern on her face. She realized that Caliban had no deceit anywhere in this. Even through his emotionless expression, he seemed genuinely concerned that he had stumbled into some kind of betrayal, “What brought this on?”

“I… I do not know. I have felt things become… serious.”

“Since when?”

“Since we went dancing,” said Caliban, “For the past week. We have slept together more often. He has said he loves me more often. I have taught him a weapon, and he has taught me some magic and the poker. He never wants to be away from my side, and I don’t want to be out of his, but I know for a fact this is perhaps not… right.”

“Because you’re too different?”

Caliban thought on this and nodded his head. Hotspur breathed in deeply and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Look, Caliban. Balthezar is… From what I’ve seen, Balthezar is a sucker.”

“Sucker…?”

“He’s smart, he’s tougher than he looks, he’s scrappier than he looks, but when you get right down to it, he’s got all the emotional fortitude of a teenager. He lived his whole life in a library, by the Gods, and only just crawled out from between a couple shelves and into a real city. You showed an interest in him, and he fell head over heels for you – the first person who was friendly to him in the outside world. That’s more or less how it happened, right?”

Caliban nodded. It was true, in a broad sense.

“Well, maybe it’s not healthy to fall in love with the first person you met, but that’s what happened, and you two seem like you’re fine for now. I say… just ride it out. If it works out, it works out. If it doesn’t, Balthezar will learn a good lesson about the world, and he’ll be stronger for it.”

“I see…” said Caliban, looking down into his lap, before he looked up at her, “What about children?”

“What?” she demanded, grimacing, “I thought you said you didn’t love him.”

“Love has nothing to do with mating,” Caliban said, slowly, “I would like children of my own some day.”

“Oh gods!” she exclaimed, grinding her teeth and beginning to pace the room, “Do I have to explain the birds and the bees to you? It won’t work, you’re both bees.”

“We are not bees. I am a Lizardfolk and he is a Dragonborn,” Caliban said, “I just mean I would like to mate and have children. Cloudgazer cannot give me that, and I cannot give that to Cloudgazer. If I left him to mate with a female in her season, I feel as if that would betray him.”

“Well… that’s…” the stammered, her head spinning, “I mean… I thought you… You’re both men, so I thought… Oh nevermind! I don’t want to go there! I don’t want to know!”

“I cannot ask these questions of Cloudgazer, because he would take them the wrong way. It would hurt him. If I was pair-bonded with you, and I left you to mate with another, how would you feel?”

“Well, if it were me, I’d probably stab you to death if you cheated on me.”

“I see. I do not believe that would be Cloudgazer’s reaction.”

“No, he’s probably the ‘sit in his room and cry’ type,” she muttered, “I… I really don’t know what to tell you, Caliban. If you’re not getting what you need…”

“But I am!” he cried, suddenly, sitting up straighter, “That day he taught me to dance was the best day I have ever had since coming to Waterdeep. I want every day to be like that day, and Cloudgazer can give that to me. But… I am not good at thinking of the future. Whenever I do, I feel my mind scramble.”

“You want my advice?”

“Yes!” Caliban said, “Please.”

She sighed, long and loud, and walked forward to snatch the bourbon away from the lizardfolk. She took a long swallow, growling at the burn, before she corked it and placed it on her dresser.

“Stick with it, okay? Be… honest, I guess?” she said, “You can’t be worried about the future. It sounds like you love him plenty, even though you say you can’t. As far as I’m concerned there’s no difference. So, you can’t feel emotion! You still think he’s fun to be around, and you like fucking him, so whatever! Maybe that’s just what love is. You respect him. That seems way better than love from where I’m sitting.”

“Respect…”

“You’re thinking about his wants and needs and trying to make them fit with your own. That sounds nice. He’s lucky. I think you’re both lucky. Having kids? Losing interest? Those are problems for later. Just… enjoy the time you got now, I guess. You could always adopt if you want to start a family together, I guess.”

“Simply take a child… yes, perhaps,” Caliban muttered, reaching up to scratch his chin, considering the possibility.

“An orphan! Like, a kid who lost their parents. Don’t just go stealing a kid.”

“I understand. A stray child,” said Caliban, “Thank you Hotspur. You have helped me.”

She shrugged, “I don’t know if I said anything worth hearing. I don’t know anything about love or… mating.”

“You seem to know much.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve had a string of bad courtships I wasn’t interested in. Maybe I just know what I wished they had,” she said, “Now, get out. It’s been a long day.”

“If you need anything of me, you need simply ask,” said Caliban, standing, “I am in your debt.”

“Isn’t that how you and Balthezar got to sleeping together in the first place?” she said, grimacing, “I may be green, but I’m not into scales.”

“Cloudgazer is beyond our life-debt now. Our fates are joined,” said Caliban, before thinking for a moment, staring at the half-orc, “And I am not ‘into’ you either.”

“Good.”

“Farewell,” he said, walking to the door and opening it. He walked out abruptly without another word, not even waiting for Hotspur to answer with a goodbye in kind.

The Half-orc stared at the door as Caliban’s tail disappeared beyond it, and he closed it behind him. She blinked her eyes, wondering what the hell that was all about. She thought she had helped, or at least she hoped she had. She caught herself a moment later. Why should she care? These people weren’t her friends. She just worked with them! She shook her head and snatched the bottle off the dresser, tearing the cork out once again and taking one more pull before she replaced the cork and stashed it in her drawer.

Even thinking that, however, she found herself worried suddenly. Caliban was, on some level, trapped, wasn’t he? He was struggling to do right by a person he respects immensely, while also staying true to himself. She looked around at the clothes strewn about on the floor. Princess dresses mixed up with piles of frumpy work clothes. Pink frilly rocks and rough canvas hard places.

“Caliban! Wait!” she called out, suddenly, rushing out the door.

She managed to catch him before he had left the hall, and he turned to see her, blinking his eyes as they roamed the hallway.

“What?”

“I want to go shopping!” she demanded, and she walked forward, “I want you to come with me. That’s how you can repay me for my advice.”

“Shopping. I do not need more clothes.”

“Well, I do,” she said, walking forward and slapping the lizardfolk on the shoulder, “And I think talking more would be good. For both of us. As friends.”

“Friends?”

She smiled at him, and he seemed disquieted by the expression. Even so, he silently nodded his head and when she walked on, he followed after her, unsure of what he would do on this shopping trip, but fine with spending the day with Hotspur.

\--

It was late. Balthezar lay down on his bed, thinking. His soreness from the past week of weapon training was subsiding, finally, and he was glad for that. He was never one to balk at schooling, but the past week had been especially tough. It was even stranger when he thought of the uptick in affection the lizardfolk had begun to show him in nearly every waking moment when they weren’t training. He thought at first perhaps the lizardfolk was worried about him, and licking his wounds, but he had begun to suspect something else. He noticed it first on that day where they went dancing. The Lizardfolk would not just hold his hand anymore. He tended to bury himself close to his lover, nuzzling and curling his arms or tail around him. He hoped it wasn’t just his imagination.

Given this, it was odd that he hadn’t seen Caliban all day today. The Dragonborn had told him in the morning that he wanted to sleep in, sore as he was, and the lizardfolk stayed in bed with him for a while before getting up to have breakfast. By the time Balthezar was ready to emerge from their room, Caliban had disappeared off elsewhere, and the dragonborn had the day to himself. He spoke some with Puck and Pequod, and even assisted Urthgar in taking care of the animals out back, before he spent most of the day simply reading. Not for any purpose, but just because he felt like curling up with a good book, and there were many interesting books in the Eagleshield’s study. Most covered history he already knew, but there were some Waterdeep-centric volumes he managed to find. He decided that since he lived in the city of splendors, he might as well give himself an idea about a Waterdhavian’s perspective on the history of the world.

Now, with just the book laying beside him, the bed felt exceptionally empty. He wondered where Caliban had gone. It wasn’t like him to go off on his own like this. He didn’t think anything had happened, but still, it was out of the ordinary. It was the first whole day truly on his own since he met Caliban, and that thought gave him pause. He wondered if this was more usual for the lizardfolk, and worried slightly that whatever infatuation had come over him had suddenly cooled.

Lonely and filled with a sudden anxiety, Balthezar decided that he would walk down to the study to return the book he had borrowed. He needed to move around and stretch his legs. Walking out of his room with the book under his arm, the dragonborn moved down the hallway, and then downstairs. As he did, his mind wandered, again, to Caliban. He had long ago realized that it was perhaps more than a little bit serious, these feelings he had for the Lizardfolk. He had not particularly thought to think them strange when he first entered this odd relationship, but now that he had met other Dragonborn, and actually knew something about his own people, he realized how odd it truly was. Their species were, on some level, completely incompatible, and yet there they were, trying their best to make it work.

“You can’t just dump the same meat into Dungeness’ pen as the others, you big lummox!” Balthezar heard coming from the kitchen, “You gotta give him plants too. And stop cleaning his pool so much, he don’t need it. He can just eat the pond scum.”

“Annie don’t like it when the pool gets too dirty,” said the voice of Urthgar, answering Puck.

Immediately, Balthezar hugged the book to himself and changed course. He peeked into the kitchen and saw Urthgar there, massive body hunched and face looking sheepish as the tiny Kobold stood on a butcher’s block, finger waggling at the man as he berated him.

“And I’m trying to keep my crab healthy!” said Puck, “He’s a growing boy. And not so much red meat either! He needs fish or bugs! That’s what he’d eat in the wild.”

“Listen, Puck, I know you took a likin’ to that giant crab out there, but I got lots of animals to take care of. If’n yer gonna be makin’ all sorts of demands…”

“He ain’t just an animal, though,” Puck said, his face softening, “He’s family. He’s all alone, y’know? He’s a long way from home. The closest place where Giant Crabs would show up would be… gosh, the coastline closer to Baldur’s Gate. We gotta make him comfy.”

“If’n you wanted we could ship ‘im back down south to…”

“Nuh uh!” cried Puck, “He’s my friend! He chose to fight with me. He and I understand one another. We’re the same. Nature sucks! Everything’s always trying to eat you, and you always gotta be scrambling for your next meal. I finally got away from all that when I came here, and it’s the same for Dungeness. He don’t have to hunt anymore, cuz’ we feed him, and he fights with me as thanks.”

Urthgar seemed puzzled as he stared at the Kobold, scratching his bald head, before he shrugged and said, “Yeah, fine, whatever. I’ll be more careful, okay?”

“Thank you,” said Puck, visibly relaxing, and even managing a little smile, “You’re doing fine, buddy. Dungeness is just important to me, okay? I just ain’t used to having to take care of, y’know, people other than Kobolds. Especially not Orcs.”

Urthgar seemed to reinflate some as the Kobold said this, and he managed to smile a bit. The Kobold reached up then, giving the orc a pat on the arm. Urthgar returned the pat, a little harder than he intended, and the small creature was hit with such a force on the back that he stumbled and nearly fell off the butcher block. However, he managed to balance himself, and as soon as his feet were stable, he sighed, and then both burst into laughter. Soon, Urthgar turned away from the Kobold and, noticing Balthezar in the doorway, he gave a wave of his meaty hand.

“Hey, Cloudgazer,” he said, before he walked with heavy steps out of the side door and out into the garden.

Puck turned and saw Balthezar, smiling, and soon climbed down from the butcher’s block. He said, “What’s up, Cloudgazer?”

“Er, nothing, I suppose,” the dragonborn said.

“No Caliban?”

“N-no. It’s been a while. Have you seen him?”

“Er… I guess I saw him head upstairs a while ago. Figured he would have talked to you.”

“Odd.”

Balthezar’s look of worry wasn’t lost on Puck as he walked on. He stopped, staring up at the green dragonborn’s soft face, and he sighed.

“What’s wrong?” asked Puck, turning with crossed arms.

“Er… Nothing,” Balthezar answered quickly.

“Tell that to that book then,” said the Kobold, “You’re really doing a number on the cover.”

Balthezar was confused for a moment, before he looked down and realized that he really was clutching the book to his chest so hard that the was bending the cover and wrinkling the pages. He immediately loosened his grip, crying out in horror at mistreating a book so badly, and he rushed over to the nearest table and placed it carefully down, before he began to smooth out the front cover and undo the wrinkling of the pages.

“Sorry, I just…” Balthezar muttered, before he sighed and picked the book back up, smoothing out the last of the dogears, “It’s silly.”

“I bet it ain’t.”

“Well, it is,” said Balthezar, forcing himself to laugh before he placed the book back down and turned towards the Kobold, “Ever since I bought those apples for him in the market that first day, I don’t think we’ve spent more than maybe a few hours apart, you know? It’s been a whole day. Isn’t that silly?”

“You’re lonely,” Puck said, frowning, his eyes wide.

“Er… I guess so.”

“Well, that’s different!” cried Puck, hopping down from the butcher’s block and, to Balthezar’s surprise, he ran up and hugged himself close to Balthezar’s leg, clutching on and rubbing his muzzle on his knee, “I’m sorry.”

“Er… Puck?”

“I guess big people get lonely too,” Puck said, “Don’t worry, buddy. I’m here for you. We should go hang out together!”

“Puck, are you alright?”

“Of course I am! You’re the one who’s lonely!”

“I mean, I guess so, but… this seems like a bit of an overreaction.”

Puck suddenly stared up into the dragonborn’s face. Balthezar was worried he had said the wrong thing, and he felt the kobold’s grip on his leg loosen.

“It is?”

“Well, I mean… I appreciate the concern but…”

Puck tilted his head then, seeming confused, “Does lonely not mean the same thing that I think it means?”

“Well… I was alone and felt a little sad. That’s what it means, yes.”

“Only a little sad?” asked Puck, “But you were all alone!”

Balthezar blinked his eyes, before reaching up to push his spectacles up his snout. He then knelt to get onto the kobold’s level, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I feel as if this is a kobold thing I don’t quite understand,” said Balthezar, “You don’t have to worry. I don’t mind being alone sometimes.”

“Weird.”

“Aren’t... Don’t you appreciate some alone-time sometimes?”

“Why would I?” Asked Puck, “Being alone is awful.”

“Is it?”

“Boy you big people are weirder than I thought!” said Puck, pulling away from Balthezar and reaching up to scratch his head, “How do I explain this…? Uhhh… Well, a kobold on his own? That’s, like, a fate worse than death.”

“R-really?”

“I mean, from the minute we hatch we got a hundred brothers and sisters, and we’re up and walking real soon, and start working for the warren. I don’t think I was ever apart from another kobold for longer than a few minutes until Ssylo and me escaped from the cult, and that was just so I could hunt without him screwing me up. Kobolds who get abandoned or run away tend to go a little off their rockers, y’know?”

“Is that true?” asked Balthezar, fascinated. He was glad for the distraction.

“Yeah. Why do you think me and Ssylo are so close?” asked Puck, “I mean, we were friends before then, but after surviving together out there, we’re blood brothers. I was all he had, and he was all I had. If it was just me or just him, we never would have survived. We would have gone nuts.”

“I suppose I never realized that. It makes sense. You’re a close-knit community.”

“You mean it ain’t that way with you?”

Balthezar thought about it for a moment, and smiled, “I suppose not. I can live without Caliban for a little while. Thank you for putting things in perspective.”

“I’ll still hang out with you!” Puck cried, sternly, looking as if he was still worried, “It was lousy of Caliban to leave you alone for this long.”

“He’s his own person too, Puck. He doesn’t have to report to me every moment of every day,” said Balthezar, realizing as he said it that he was telling himself as much as he was informing Puck. He smiled wider and squeezed his friend’s shoulder, “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to ‘go nuts’ over something like this. I promise.”

“Well… okay.”

As he said this, however, he realized what this must have meant. He looked at Puck’s face. It had likely been a whole week since he had last visited the warren. He was a long way from home, even though it was just across town. Smiling, the dragonborn stood back up and picked the book back up, before he suggested, “How about you accompany me to the study so I can return this book, and then we can do something together. It might be fun.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. What is there to do for fun in Waterdeep?” asked Balthezar, “I mean, there are inns, and it was fun to go dancing…”

“Most places are closed this time of night.”

Balthezar turned to stare out the window. It was getting rather late.

“I suppose not. We can simply sit and talk, then,” said Balthezar, “Perhaps we might pick out another book.”

“I… guess?” Puck said, his snout turning up quizzically. As much as he liked the idea of hanging around with Balthezar, he didn’t particularly like the sound of sitting around reading.

Just then, however, both draconic creatures turned as they heard the door out into the garden open. Through the door soon came Hotspur, carrying a small package under her arm. Balthezar’s eyes went wide as he saw what she was wearing. It was quite unlike what he had ever seen her wearing before. She was wearing a tight, tweed skirt, although it only went down to her knees, with a slit up the middle so that her legs peeked out with every step she took. Underneath, she was wearing a pair of tight boots which buckled up the sides and hugged her legs closely. As she walked, the green of her thighs peeked through. Above it all, she was wearing a corset, but not the tight, fashionable corsets her mother made her wear. It was a leather, lace-up corset without any kind of boning, so it sat comfortably over her already slender, muscular waist. Under it, she wore a blouse with a colorful ascot tied around her neck and slung over her shoulder she held a tweed jacket which matched the skirt. Her hair had more volume than normal as well, as if she had gotten it done. She smiled as she walked, humming slightly, before she spotted Balthezar and smiled.

“Well, hello,” she said.

“Er, hello there,” answered Balthzar, “New clothes?”

“Oh, this old thing?” she said, with a smirk, turning around in a circle, “Y’know, just something I picked up. Just wait until you see this. Hey, Caliban! Hurry it up!”

“I am coming!” Caliban called from outside.

Balthezar’s face lit up when he heard the Lizardfolk’s voice. Soon, however, a pile of boxes and bags on legs walked into the room. Puck snickered as he saw the lizardfolk carrying what appeared to be an entire shop’s worth of clothes in his arms.

“Where… do I put these…?” asked Caliban.

“Ah, yes!” she said, before she walked over to a panel on one wall and pressed a small button. From elsewhere in the manor, a bell seemed to ring, and very soon, the butler appeared flanked by two servants. Without even needing to be asked, they approached Caliban, taking the boxes and bags from him. As soon as he was standing in full view, Puck and Balthezar’s eyes widened, and the dragonborn’s jaw went suddenly slack.

Caliban was standing in a full outfit. He wore a pair of high-waisted leather trousers that hugged his muscular form, as well as a sharp leather vest, and a jacket over it all. He wore no shirt underneath, and his muscular chest pushed out the vest and jacket in a way that caused Balthezar’s face to blush a darker green. He fidgeted his hands, before reaching up to the red scarf tied loosely around his neck and pulling at it. The clothes fit him perfectly, built around his hunching, lizardlike form, instead of being worn in spite of it.

“W-wow,” said Balthezar.

“’Wow’?” asked Hotspur, with a smirk, “Is that all?”

“I did not think I needed more clothes. Hotspur said otherwise,” said Caliban, before he raised his arms and turned around in a slow circle, showing them off. Balthezar blinked his eyes as he saw that there was an embroidered dragon on the back of the lizardfolk’s jacket. A Green dragon. “Do you like it?”

“I… I love it!” Balthezar cried, walking forward and reaching to touch his lover’s new outfit. He ran his hands over the lizardfolk’s shoulders and arms, smiling as he did, “It fits so well!”

“We went to a tailor,” said Hotspur, shrugging her shoulders, “I needed a new wardrobe anyway. We were in the neighborhood.”

“It is real leather,” said Caliban, repeating the sales pitch the man at the shop had given him, “A real steal. And I decided not to buy a new shirt. You like when my shirt is open. I do not see the point.”

Balthezar stammered, and then laughed, before he pointedly looked away, obviously smitten anew by his lover’s new look. He turned towards Hotspur and then back to Caliban.

“Is this where you were all day? I missed you.”

“You did?”

“Well, sure,” said Balthezar.

“I… missed you too,” said Caliban, “But I needed to… think about things.”

Balthezar’s eyes traveled up from his lover’s splendid pecs to meet his lover’s eyes. He furrowed his brow, wondering what that meant. However, Caliban said nothing, and instead reached down to take the dragonborn’s hand.

“I think you two should talk,” said Hotspur, “Come on, Puck. Help me unpack!”

“I’m not your slave, greenskin!” Puck snapped, “Why should I…?”

“What if I said I got you something too?” she said, smiling, “I got everyone a little something.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Do I need one?” she asked, “Call it ‘The Day We All Got Killed by an Immortal Dragon Eve.’ just felt like you guys needed a little leg up.”

“Oh yeah?” Puck said with a smile, “What’d you get for Balthezar?”

She only answered with a wink and jerked her head towards Caliban. Puck looked over and saw once again that the dragonborn was practically drooling over the Lizardfolk’s fashionable outfit. Puck understood, at least on a surface level.

“It’s just clothes…” Puck muttered as he followed Hotspur out of the kitchen, leaving Balthezar and Caliban alone.

“What, uh, what did you want to talk about?” asked Balthezar, finding his head enough to turn away from Calban and back over to the book he still needed to return to the study, “We can talk on the way. I need to return this book.”

Caliban nodded his head and, slowly, the two of them made their way out of the kitchen. They walked in silence for a little while, before Caliban began to rumble with a small, unclear growl.

“Cloudgazer,” he finally said.

“Yes?”

Caliban was silent for another instant, before he straightened his back as much as he could and said, “I am not smart, like you are. I do not know things about the world. I was helpless in this city before I met you.”

“I… I think you give yourself too little credit, Caliban.”

He shook his head, and continued, “It is simply true. I think that is why we should talk about us.”

“Us?”

“I am dedicated to Cloudgazer, but I am unsure whether it will be possible for it to remain this way forever.”

Balthezar stopped walking then, freezing in the middle of the hall. Caliban kept walking apace for a few steps before he realized the dragonborn had stopped, and he looked back.

“Cloudgazer…?”

“I… I don’t like this, Caliban. You’re scaring me,” said Balthezar, worry lining his face.

“Even so, we must talk,” Caliban said, quickly, “You have said that you love me. I have not been honest with you.”

“Y-you haven’t?”

“When you say you love me, it makes me happy, but it also makes me worried,” said Caliban, “You are born of dragons. I am kin with lizards. We were not meant to be together in this way, and yet…”

“I don’t care about any of that, Caliban,” Balthezar snapped, forcing a smile, “I mean. Species differences aside, relationships between races is… It’s not out of the ordinary.”

“There are feelings there that there aren’t here.”

“You keep saying that,” the dragonborn muttered, “I get it. You… you don’t feel, or your feelings are dampened, or muted, or however it truly works. And I’ve already told you I don’t care. My feelings are real, and you… you still enjoy being with me, so… so I’m…”

“I enjoy us. I want to stay like this. But I don’t know how long I will remain so.”

“What do you mean?”

“Needs may change,” said Caliban, stepping forward, “I need you now, but I know in the future I may need something else. Something you may not be able to give me.”

“B-but… I need you!” Balthezar said, his voice rising as he met Caliban, stepping in to touch his lover on the arm, “I’ll always need you!”

“Cloudgazer. I figured something out today. You know how I am. I have told you many times. But you do not respect the knowledge.”

Balthezar stared up into Caliban’s face as the lizardfolk said this, puzzlement and fear coming across his expression.

“What do you mean?”

“You let yourself love me, knowing I can’t love you back. I worry for you, because I respect your feeling,” explained Caliban, slowly, as if he was reciting something he had practiced many times, “There is something more important than love. Something I know we can share. Something I want to share with you. Respect. That is something that has been lost between us.”

“I… I respect you, of course I do!”

“I believe you want to,” said Caliban, stepping closer to Balthezar and raising his own hand to touch the dragonborn on the shoulder, “But you do not truly understand me.”

“Then… then help me,” said Balthezar, clutching tighter, “I don’t want to lose you, Caliban.”

“That is the problem. You will.”

“What?”

“My needs will change. Yours will too. When that does, we can’t go on like we are now. You do not understand that yet.”

“I-I… I think we can make it work.”

“You will try to change yourself to meet my needs. I will try to change myself to meet yours. If those no longer align, I will move on and pursue what I need. I understand now that if that happens, we might no longer be friends.”

Balthezar could feel his voice catch in his throat, he looked away, eyes wide.

“Why now?” he asked, “We went dancing. You taught me things, I taught you… I thought things were… were good between us. Why are you telling me this now?”

“Now is the best time because it is good,” said Caliban, “We’ve only just begun. You must understand and respect me, Cloudgazer. I need you in my life forever. Our fates are intertwined, but I may not always need to be your mate. If losing your love means also losing your friendship, then I cannot accept that you love me.”

“That’s… too cruel,” Balthezar muttered.

“Even so. Before we continue as we are, it is what we both must respect. I am not a dragonborn. You are not a lizardfolk.”

“Y-you expect me t-to be able to go on like this after you tell me that… that you’re going to leave me?”

Caliban was silent at this, his face emotionless as ever, but his eyes always traveling up and down his mate’s form, noticing the shudder of his shoulders and the pale knuckles of his scaley hand clutching the book.

“I am afraid too, Cloudgazer.”

“How can you be?” Balthezar snapped, his voice rising as he looked up into the lizardfolk’s face. There were tears in his eyes, which broke and began to stream down his face, “If you can’t love me, you can’t be afraid to lose me!”

“I know what I do not want. It is different from feeling. I know. I have told you this.”

“I know! I know… I just…” Balthezar stammered, pulling his hand away from Caliban’s arm and stepping backwards, “I just… don’t understand. I can’t understand!”

“You thought love would be enough,” Caliban said.

“N-no! I-I… I just… well…”

“I am not leaving you now,” Caliban explained, seeming confused as he said it, “I do not see why you should be upset yet.”

“Then you don’t understand me either!” Balthezar finally cried, stepping away and hugging the book to his chest with both arms as he turned away, “You think you understand me, but… but you don’t! I can’t just stop loving you because you tell me to, Caliban! I just can’t!”

Caliban was silent at this. He suspected that he had said something wrong. He knew he had not succeeded in communicating his point.

“Cloudgazer…” He said, walking forward, “We must enjoy the time we have now. That is what I…”

“Stop it!” Balthezar cried, before he clenched his jaw and stepped away from the lizardfolk. Caliban followed him, reaching out to take the dragonborn by the shoulder, but he managed to dodge away and began to run away from the lizardfolk. Caliban could hear a sudden sob from far off around the corner as Balthezar ran from him. He considered chasing after the dragonborn, but knew, somehow, that it would be useless. He had failed. Hotspur had been wrong. Honesty did not work.

He was frozen in the hall for a long time, standing around in his fancy clothes, both eyes focused on the corner around which Balthezar had run away. He tried to think of what he could say to fix this. He wished he had lied instead. He wished he could have said he loved the dragonborn. That would have made Balthezar happy, but it would have been a lie. He respected the dragonborn too much to lie to him, and now? Now he had lost him both as a mate and as a friend. His posture sank. Puck had been right. People who feel were complicated. He was a fool to think letting it go this far was a good idea.

Slowly, he turned away and crept through the Eagleshield residence. Methodically, he pulled his new clothes off, piece by piece, and dropped them on the floor as he went. They were for Cloudgazer to see him in. Now that he and Cloudgazer were no more, he did not need them anymore.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cult rears its ugly head one last time, and the heroes ride to stop them once and for all.

The next morning, the five of them met in front of the prison. Caliban was back in his bearskin loincloth, teeth bared as he stared up at the stone walls of the fortress in the middle of the city. Balthezar was dressed in his robe, but seemed to sway in place, leaning hard on the glaive. By the dark bags under his eyes, he had not slept much the night before. He and Caliban did not look at one another, and stood on opposite sides of the group, and immediately, Pequod, Hotspur, and Puck knew something was wrong between the two of them. However, it wasn’t the time. The day was upon them.

With badges pinned to their clothes, the five of them plus one giant crab entered the complex through the front gate. Balthezar could sense a sudden magical pulse emanate from the badges, although the rest of them did not notice, and the gates seemed to open all on their own. They were at least ten feet tall built into the fifty-foot-high walls, made of wrought iron, and were completely opaque. They opened slowly to a secondary gate where a guard stood with a slate and a pen, and a suspicious expression.

“State your business,” he said, sounding bored.

“Hellena Eagleshield, here to attend the execution,” said Hotspur, stepping forward as the party’s spokesperson.

A grimace from the guard and a jerk of his hand later, and the gates began to open. Six guards appeared to match the number of adventurers who had arrived at the gates, and they began to circle the party as they entered. The guard with the slate countered their number and squinted his eyes.

“We were expecting six of you, plus a… crab,” he said, “Where’s the last one?”

“He had another engagement to attend,” said Hotspur smoothly, “It will just be the five of us. Is that a problem?”

The guard shrugged, before he crossed something off of his list and began to lead the party on. They found themselves in a long yard between the walls and the front door of the compound. At either side, they could see that a tall fence had been erected, and even had a ceiling, as if it was a bird cage, cutting into the area between the prisoner’s yard and the entrance. The party could see listless prisoners milling about or calling obscenities from the bars. Balthezar was instantly uncomfortable and couldn’t help but show it on his face. He wished he could have grabbed on to Caliban’s hand and squeezed it tight to help him through this, but, with a pang of regret, he remembered that would no longer be appropriate. He forced himself to straighten up, and by the time the group had entered the fortress, he had steeled his expression.

Within, everything was made up of drab, gray stone, and every single door and window was adorned with bars. The five of them were led silently through the fortress, hearing far away cries of pain and fear. As they passed by a staircase leading deeper down into the dungeons, they could hear the crack of whips, and screams from some poor prisoner receiving a flogging. However, the five of them were led through the building, not stopping anywhere that the prisoners dwelt, and soon exited into another lawn behind the fortress.

All of them immediately saw the gallows. It was a permanent platform built into the center of the yard. From the scaffold above it, a noose hung, and on top of the platform, a man, apparently human, stood with a black hood over his head.

“The prisoner’s still in his cell,” said the guard leading them, “Isolation block for magic types. Hands cuffed, mouth bound, and not allowed a scrap of anything without prior approval from our expert and strict supervision. Never know what might make for a component for a spell. Found an acidproof muzzle. First day he tried to melt his way out with that breath of his. He’s feisty.”

“How come it took so long to kill him, anyway?” asked Puck, sitting on top of Dungeness.

“Long list. We tried to contact some next of kin first, just to dot the t’s and cross the I’s. Turns out he ain’t got any. At least none he’ll tell us about.”

Puck frowned, staring up at the gallows. He was tense. Gruk’s murderer was still alive. Pequod thought to look over at him and felt a little sorry for the Kobold. Until the bastard was dead, he wouldn’t be able to relax.

“How long until it’s done?” asked Hotspur.

“Two hours. I figure if you’re going to give us a little extra security, you’ll need some time to do it. So, get to it,” said the guard, “That’s the only entrance or exit to the execution yard. The walls are warded, so nothing goes over or through them without one of those badges.”

“So if someone did have a badge,” said Balthezar, stepping forward as he stared up at the top of the wall, imagining as he did a dragon swooping over and bombarding them with its terrifying breath, “They could fly over the walls?”

“From here, sure, I guess,” the man said, glancing up into the sky. This area was open-air, unlike the prisoner’s yards, and he seemed suspicious as he furrowed his brow and looked back at Balthezar, “Why?”

“N-no reason! Just covering all of our bases,” said Balthezar.

Pequod stepped in, smoothly, and smiled as he said, “The asshole we’re waiting for is a magic type, apparently. He might be able to confound the wards.”

“Doubt it. These wards have held for a hundred years strong. Ain’t nothing getting in or out.”

“Still, I think it’s better to be safe than sorry,” said Pequod, “Puck, get to work.”

“Got it!” said the Kobold as he spurred his crab on and began to patrol the yard. From his pack, he produced a long coil of rope, and soon got to work figuring out the best places to reinforce with traps.

Meanwhile, Balthezar wandered off himself, looking around the execution yard. He wasn’t sure what there was for him to do. All of his most useful skills would become relevant once combat actually began. He looked around to see what the rest of the team was doing, and saw Hotspur and Pequod were working together to inspect the gallows. Caliban stood dumbly in the middle of the yard, also unsure of what to do. Slowly, their eyes met, and Balthezar felt a new pang of pain in his belly as he forced himself to look away. An idea came to him then, pushing the unfortunate thoughts about Caliban out of his head.

He sat, then, on the grass and reached into his pack. He had learned a technique for Augury the last time he had visited the temple and he figured this was as good a time as any to attempt to put it into practice. He found there an ornate journal, as well as a pot of fine ink and a quill pen. It had cost him quite a bit, but for this, he felt it was worth it.

Laying the journal on its spine, he let it fall open to the center pages, and soon began a small prayer over the book. This ambush they had planned; is it a good idea?

Soon, once he had formed the idea in his head, he closed his eyes and took the pen from its holder. He dipped the quill into the ink and, soon, he began to hear music. It was working. Never opening his eyes, he rested his wrist on the journal and gently touched the quill to the page, and soon, allowed his hand to simply move and sway to the rhythm of the universe. It was a slow, meditative process, taking a long time, but the time seemed to pass him by quicker than he expected.

Soon, he felt a sudden surge of energy tingle through his body, and he breathed in raggedly. His heart was beating, and his breath was fast, as if he had just awoken from a nightmare. He looked down and saw that the fingers of his writing hand were absolutely covered in ink. He had, unbeknownst to himself, dipped the quill, as well as the tips of his fngers, into the inkpot several times and the side of his hand smeared around the ink that he had written onto the page. The journal was filled with an entire page of nothing but manic scribbling and smeared blobs of ink, but Balthezar knew better than to leave it there. The movements of his hand weren’t his own. Deneir, even indirectly, had left him a message here, if only he had the eyes to interpret it.

Studying the page carefully, he squinted his eyes, trying to find the message. It was so much nothing, however, and he found himself growing restless and confused. The spell had worked, hadn’t it? Where was the sign? What was the Augury?

His answer came when he realized that the pages of this journal were actually quite thin. Where his ink-stained fingers touched the corner of the paper, he saw that the ink had actually seeped through the page and stained the page behind. Furrowing his brow, Balthezar laid the journal back down onto the ground and, carefully, turned the page to the one after. There, he received his augury.

The patterns he had formed in the ink seemed random and unformed on the page before, but below, they seemed to form such a clear picture that Balthezar was astonished to see it. It depicted a candle, or at least it looked like a candle. However, it had been newly snuffed, and smoke trailed from the wick. Balthezar knew intuitively what this meant. Deneir’s holy sign was a lit candle. A snuffed one could not be a good omen.

He stood, then, leaving the ruined remains of the the journal and pen on the ink-stained grass, and he used his cleaner left hand to find a handkerchief as he processed the omen. However, he could not find one, and he stood, helpless, with wet ink on his hand.

“Here,” said the voice of Pequod, causing the dragonborn to turn. He saw the tortle had offered him a handkerchief.

“Oh. It’s ink. It will ruin…”

“Don’t worry about it. More where this came from,” said the bard, “Take it.”

Balthezar stared at the handkerchief, and then took it, wiping the ink from his hands.

“Thank you.”

“What did you see?”

Balthezar shook his head, and said, “Nothing good. A sign of woe, I believe.”

“Something bad’s going to happen here?”

“Something bad or… or our plans are incomplete. It is a lower order divination. All it can say is whether something is good, bad, or indifferent.”

“So be on our guard. I got it,” Pequod said, frowning at this news, “Wish the gods could talk in complete sentences for once.”

“They can’t do everything for us, Pequod. If they did, there would be no meaning to life,” Balthezar answered, “That’s what we’re here to fight against. Tiamat would rule all. Control everything. All that is not draconic would fall, and all that is draconic would be under her domination.”

“Yeesh.”

“Yes. ‘Yeesh’ indeed.”

At this, Balthezar handed back the handkerchief before he reached up to touch his holy symbol and thank his god for the sign. He then bent over and picked his glaive back up, with only a slight hesitation before his hand gripped the shaft of his weapon. This hesitation was not lost on Pequod.

“So. We got about an hour,” said the tortle, “Puck’s set up all his traps, Hotspur and I made sure there were no secret passages. We’re ready. All that’s left is one last question.”

“What’s that?” asked Balthezar, turning to face Pequod.

“What’s going on,” asked Pequod, a sly smile on his face, “Between you and Caliban?”

Balthezar felt this question nearly impact with his chest. His shoulders went tense, and his face fell. He blinked his eyes, and clenched his jaw, looking away.

“I… I don’t…”

“It’s pretty easy to see something’s wrong, Balthezar. You haven’t touched or said a word to each other all day, and every time you look at him you got a face like a kicked puppy,” said the tortle, stretching his long turtle neck to come face to face with the dragonborn, “So what?”

“I… It…” stammered Balthezar, “Must we talk about this now? We’re about to…”

“This is the best time to talk. You don’t want any regrets heading into the biggest battle of our lives, do you?”

“W-well, no… But…”

“So tell me,” demanded Pequod, “I know something happened. Is there something I can do for you both?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about how a lizard and a dragonborn are supposed to act when they’re in flagrante delecto. All I know is two members of my team are acting weird, and I want to put a stop to it.”

“It’s personal. It’s between him and me.”

“Wrong! It’s team business. We’re a team, Balthezar. If you can’t work together…”

“It’s… Listen, I… I was silly. That’s all. I never should have let it get as far as it did. Now it’s over. That’s what happened.”

Pequod stared hard at the dragonborn then, before he frowned fully and shook his head. “Not good enough.”

“W-what?”

“You got hurt,” said Pequod.

“O-of course I did! I… I didn’t want it to… to end, but…”

“So then why did it?”

“Because it… it wasn’t going to work,” said Balthezar, the answers coming out slowly as Pequod pried them out, “We’re too different. He explained it to me, and I finally… I finally understood. I couldn’t handle it, so… I ended it.”

“What did he say?”

“He… He said he didn’t love me. He couldn’t love me. He never would love me,” said Balthezar, “And that eventually he would leave me.”

Pequod furrowed his brow, tilting his head and crossing his arms. He stepped forward and asked, “Is that really what he said?”

“I… yes. It is.”

“Seems sudden.”

“It… it was. I thought we were doing so well, too. I… I…”

Balthezar could feel the tears returning, but he grimaced and blinked them away. He cleared his voice to get the knot out of his throat and held his hand to the tip of his draconic snout in case his nose began to run. This wasn’t the time. There was a battle incoming.

“Are you sure he wasn’t trying to be kind?”

“K-kind?” muttered Balthezar, “I don’t… Why do you say that?”

“Because he isn’t the kind to hurt someone’s feelings for no reason,” said Pequod, smiling, “And I know for a fact this was the best week you two ever had. I heard about your polka spree across the city.”

“Even so…”

“He doesn’t want to hurt you. He worships you. He’s got simple motives, Balthezar.”

“Simple…?”

“You’re the complicated one here. Take it from someone else with pretty simple motives, I think Caliban’s crazy for getting involved with you.”

Balthezar felt his hackles rise at this casual insult to him, but he stayed silent and continued to listen.

“But he sees something, I guess, and he doesn’t want to hurt you.”

“Well, he did.”

“By telling you the truth?”

Silence came over Balthezar once again, and he looked away from the tortle, turning his back fully so the tortle’s long neck couldn’t force itself into his face again.

Pequod sighed, “He’s an idiot, but so are you. He thought you could be rational because he has trouble believing anyone can’t be rational. In his mind, it’s simple. You stay together until its time to part ways. Staying together forever never occurred to him, and he realized that’s what you wanted, so he tried to explain why that wouldn’t work.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Just accept it? Let it end…?”

“When it’s time to end it, sure. Did he say anything else to you when he was breaking your heart?”

Balthezar thought back to that conversation. It had played through his mind constantly all through the night. However, when he tried to think of Caliban’s words, all that came out were the painful feelings that arose from them. Finally, he remembered something. Caliban had mentioned something about…

“Friendship…” muttered Balthezar, “If losing my love meant losing my friendship… he couldn’t accept my love.”

“And fool as he is, he thought you would take that to mean exactly what it says, instead of how you felt at the moment.”

“I can’t just… stop loving him, Pequod.”

“A-hah. So you do still love him, then?”

“O-of course I do!” cried Balthezar turning back to the tortle, “But…”

“Think about it!” cried Pequod, suddenly, gripping the dragonborn by the arm and pushing his face so close that Balthezar had to lean back, “You have something here. You have someone who… hell, I don’t know what to call it. If it’s not love, then I don’t know what love is. What you got with Caliban is better than love.”

“Wh-what?”

“Caliban is ready to die for you. He’s ready to be a part of your life forever. But you’re so blind that you can’t see past your own lovesick infatuation and you’re ready to fireball the whole thing just because maybe being a part of your life forever means he might not want to screw forever.”

“I… I….” stammered Balthezar, eyes wide. He looked down at the grass. His heart was telling him that Pequod was wrong. That love should mean something else. Then again, his head was telling him something else. He had never been in love before. Maybe his problem was one of definition. Maybe he didn’t know what love really was. All he had as far as experience was Caliban, and whatever he had read in books. Was it truly more of a childish infatuation than love? Did he really have something deeper with the Lizardfolk, and didn’t even realize what he had until he had let it slip away?

Even so, he couldn’t think the pain in his heart away. He grimaced, closing his eyes, and he breathed in deeply.

Pequod spoke, “You’re a big boy, Balthezar. You can make your own decisions. I’m getting involved for the sake of the team, but also… ‘cuz I like you. You’re a breath of fresh air in this lousy city. I don’t want you getting cynical on me too soon.”

“A-alright,” he managed to say, wiping his eyes.

“So, think about it,” said Pequod, “And don’t forget what you two have. You got it?”

“Yes, Pequod,” Balthezar said, managing a smile, “Thank you.”

Pequod smiled then, lifting an arm to rest on the dragonborn’s shoulder. They stayed like that for a moment, Balthezar calming himself with the Tortle’s touch, and eventually, the dragonborn nodded his head, determination coming over him. He didn’t feel as if he was ready to go back and confront Caliban, but he did feel as if he was one step closer to finding out how to make things right between them.

For a moment, there was a certain peaceful silence as the party milled about, waiting for the games to begin. Suddenly, however, the silence was broken when the doors leading back into the dungeon were opened. All eyes turned to see the familiar black half-dragon standing, hands bound and completely covered with chains which didn’t even let him move his fingers, and with a tight muzzle around his snout which did not allow him to speak or use his breath weapon. His legs were bound together at the ankles and his tail was chained up to his back. He was wearing a simple canvas tunic and trousers, and his eyes, as soon as they fell upon the members of the party, were alive in a sudden hatred. He began to struggle, but the guards who had him leashed up pulled on the chains in their hands, forcing him to heel as they led him towards the gallows at a slow, calm death march.

Gathering around the raised platform, the party clustered together to watch as the half-dragon was led to the brief stairway leading up to his death. As he passed, Puck spat on the ground, staring up at the half-dragon with a burning hatred. Balthezar, too, forgot momentarily his problems with Caliban and saw for a moment the corpse of poor Mr. Penshkaatzi lying dead in his living room. He knew this was justice. This Half-dragon was evil, like those others they wiped out the other night. He was astonished at how calm he was, even though he was about to see someone killed right in front of him. Of course, that was silly. He had seen a handful of people die at this point. That half-green that Hotspur had beheaded in the alley. The untransformed human Puck had disemboweled. The winged half-red stabbed to death by Pequod twisting the rapier in her back. Had he not participated in all of those deaths? His spiritual weapon had knocked her out of the sky, allowing the party to dogpile on her. Because he had done that, Ssylo was still alive. It was the same here. The Half-black was a monster, and monsters must be destroyed.

As he stared, unblinking, at the half-black being forced to climb the gallows steps, Hotspur’s arms seemed to thrum with energy. She had her greataxe in hand, eyes darting around, obviously expecting something to happen. Puck, as well as Dungeness impressing upon his master’s mood, were frozen, not wishing to miss a moment of the life leaving this creature’s body.

Balthezar’s hands tightened around his glaive, sensing the tension in the air. Caliban did not watch the half-dragon, and instead, both eyes were circling around the dungeon, looking out for anything at all that might happen. Only Pequod seemed nonchalant. He knew whatever happened would happen. Calm would serve him better than tension.

Soon, the half-dragon stood upon the gallows, and was forced to stand on the trap door. The executioner, with a solemnity appropriate to his vocation, forced the noose around the half-dragon’s neck, and only then were the prisoner’s chains released. His muzzle and the bindings on his hands were left where they were, but the chains and leashes that bound him were released enough that he would be able to fall through the trap door and hang.

“Jona Kierkegard,” said an officer by his side, reading from a scroll, “For offenses against the city and offenses against the gods, you have been sentenced to hang by the neck until dead. Owing to your status as an unregistered user of magic, you will not be allowed the benefit of final words lest you cast a spell to attempt to escape, nor will your face be covered so we may be sure of your death. May your soul be consigned to the idol of your worship, and you receive your final reward.”

With that, the officer turned towards the executioner and nodded his head. Meanwhile, the half-dragon, eyes wide with hate and fear, turned to regard the party. With wild expression, he met the gazes of each of them, terror overcoming him as he did. For a moment, however, as he stared at Pequod, a new expression seemed to come over him. Hope. This unsettling gaze was enough to cause all five of them to tighten their grips upon their weapons and crouch down into a ready stance. It was coming. Whatever it was, it would be here soon.

“By the power vested in me by the City of Waterdeep, your life is forfeit,” said the guard, “Drop him.”

In that moment, the sudden, last minute hope in the half-dragon’s eyes seemed to snuff out in a moment. He looked around, wildly, turning his gaze up to the sky, clearly expecting something to happen. However, there was nothing but silence in the prison yard. With genuine fear in his bearing, he began to struggle against his bonds anew, and they heard muffled cries from within the half-dragon’s muzzle just as the executioner pulled the lever attached to the trapdoor.

At once, the creature dropped through, his cries intensifying for an instant, until there was a sudden strain of rope and clatter of the trapdoor mechanism. Then, there was silence. The half-dragon struggled against the rope from which he hanged, half of his body obscured by the shadow of the wooden gallows. He was kicking his legs and waving his arms, but the bindings around his wrists and ankles held, and he simply struggled and shuddered uselessly as his eyes bulged. The muzzle spared those who watched from the unsettling noise of a person choking to death. Gradually, taking longer than Balthezar expected, the half-dragon slowly came to a rest, his struggles turning to twitches, and his twitches turning to a gentle sway of the rope. His eyes never closed again, bloodshot and unseeing. As he swayed, he began to turn in a lazy circle, and Puck hopped off Dungeness, following the half-dragon’s eyes. He did not stop circling the gallows, peering into the prisoner’s dead face, until he was satisfied the last of the life had drained from Gruk’s murderer’s eyes.

There was a moment of peace, and then a moment of confusion. Nothing. Balthezar and Hotspur looked around, puzzled, while Pequod stared at the half-dragon, his confident expression fading into one of worry. Caliban never ceased looking around for danger. He was the first to break the silence.

“Where are they?” he demanded, turning around in a circle, his tail whipping back and forth with the anxiety that did not show on his face.

“I… I don’t know,” muttered Pequod, “They were going to attack. I was sure of it.”

“They just… let him die?” Balthezar asked, horror coming over his face, “He was their comrade, wasn’t he? How could they…?”

“It’s got nothing to do with camaraderie, Cloudgazer,” Puck said, hopping up onto the gallows, “These people don’t care about anyone. They’ll spill all the blood they can to get that bitch back on the material plane.”

“Hey!” cried the guard, “You can’t come up…”

However, the kobold easily slipped between the guard’s legs and jumped down into the trapdoor before the executioner could make a grab for him. At once, the police were crying out for the kobold to desist.

“Please, ladies, gentlemen,” said Pequod, stepping forward and raising his hands for silence, “We’re still working here. I think my collegue suspects something.”

“He can’t just…!” demanded their guide.

“He just did,” said Hotspur walking up the stairs and pushing the guard out of the way.

“Stop! Or you’ll be under arrest you damnable half-breed!”

At this, Hotspur froze, and turned to face the man. Slowly, her carriage changed completely. The man stared into the half-orc’s face, unaware of his faux-pas, until she walked up to him and reached up to pull off one of her thick leather gloves.

“What are you…?”

“Care to say that again to my face, officer?” she said, her voice high, imperious, and regal, as she held up her bare hand, revealing the signet ring of the Eagleshield family she wore there, “You know who my family is, or at least your fellow officers would do well to inform you. It would not do you well to insult me.”

With wide eyes, all of the police froze at the sight of the ring, and soon, Puck emerged, climbing up the body, before perching on top of the half-dragon’s horns, holding onto the rope with one hand, and raising something up in his other. He was swearing loudly in draconic, and only Balthezar and Caliban could perceive the string of absolute filth brimming forth from the kobold’s snout.

“The fuckers played us!” he screamed, over and over again, and soon, everyone could see what he was holding.

A badge – the same kind pinned to all their clothes. The key to undoing the ward. The same one Pequod had given to Auldina. It sat in the kobold’s palm like a taunt. He knew. He knew their plan the whole time, and he had not only managed to avoid it, but walked in, left them a token of his dominance, and left his servant to die.

“H-how could he…?” Pequod said, looking flustered for perhaps the first time that Balthezar had ever seen, “I was careful! I didn’t… I gave him nothing that could lead him back to…”

“Obviously you weren’t careful enough!” Hotspur cried, pushing on the tortle’s shell, forcing Pequod to stumble.

“He must have…” muttered Balthezar, before he quickly began to cast something, closing his eyes and muttering the incantations of a spell.

“What are you…?”

Immediately, Balthezar’s eyes began to glow with magical energy, and he looked around. He grimaced, seeing nothing. However, he soon closed his eyes and when he did, he grimaced.

“Puck, Caliban,” he said, “I need you all to move at least thirty feet away from me. Pequod, stand next to me, and leave any magic items elsewhere.”

“What are you…?”

“Just do it!” Balthezar snapped, his white, glowing eyes opening to stare at the tortle, “I must solve this. Please.”

Pequod stared at the dragonborn, before he nodded and took Balthezar’s and his own badges, placed them into his bag, and then handed them to Caliban as he and Puck walked away from the area of Balthezar’s spell. Hotspur, knowing her own badge would interfere with whatever this was as well, stepped out of range. Soon, Balthezar and Pequod were standing, alone, in the prison yard. The dragonborn soon closed his eyes, leaning on his glaive and tapping into the new sense that the magic had given him to detect the presence of magic. His brow furrowed.

“Damn it!” he cried, opening his eyes, “I… I can’t see it, but I can sense the magic. He’s scrying on us!”

“What? That’s impossible! The walls…!”

“The badges undid the wards on Pequod,” explained Balthezar, “All of the wards. He… he must have figured out how it worked! He’s watching us right now, I know it.”

“That… that bastard!” screamed Pequod, “He… he saw my face. That’s all he saw!”

“That’s all it takes if he’s… powerful enough,” said Balthezar, the glow of his eyes fading to a more natural color, “There’s no way to know whether he can hear us, or just see us, or… or both.”

“If he’s not here then… then where is he?” asked Puck, rejoining the rest of the party.

“… He turned this against us. He must have,” said Pequod, horror coming over him as he realized what this must have meant, “Oh Gods… We didn’t lure him here, he lured us!”

“To do what?” demanded Balthezar.

However, Hotspur was the first to reach Pequod’s conclusion. She and the tortle stared at one another, before the half-orc’s eyes ballooned in terror, and she began to run from the prison yard.

“Where are you going?” demanded Puck.

“Shut up! Follow!” cried Hotspur, “The walls have ears, remember?”

The guards, still stunned by this display, made a move to stop the group before they got too far. Their guide, stepping lively rushed to the front of the group and tried to step into the half-orc’s path.

“Wait! Stop. This is city business. With all due respect, Lady Eagleshield…”

“Move,” she said, abruptly.

“This is a matter for the watch. What’s going on?” he demanded, “Eagleshield or not, we have the authority to…”

“Then try it!” roared Hotspur, before she grabbed the policeman by the shoulder and pushed hard.

He cried out as he fell, and immediately, every guard had their sword out. However, none of the party paid them any mind as they followed the half-orc, sensing something was wrong. None of the guards were brave enough to follow. The reputations of these particular adventurers was still fresh and unproven, but belligerence towards their type did not tend to end well for the belligerent party. Soon, the party were gone out the door, ran their way through the prison, and out the front door.

\--

The mad dash through the city streets of Waterdeep was quick. Hotspur led the group silently through the city streets, from the Castle Ward where the ancient stone buildings and old fortifications stood, to the North Ward where the Eagleshield residence sat. Once they arrived, Hotspur made sure to stop the party at the corner of her block, raising a hand for silence as she looked around the corner to behold her home.

It seemed to be intact, but all of the lights were on, and people milled about in the yard. It was as if there was a party, but Hellena knew better. Her mother had planned no such thing. Squinting her eyes to get a better look, she saw that her family’s impromptu guests were wearing long robes, and occasionally she saw a flash of color from one of them, like dragon scales. Likely half-dragons.

“How did they…?” asked Balthezar, quietly, crouching down to make his own bright green coloration less obvious, “They just took over your home? Why?”

“They must have figured out that’s our base,” said Pequod. His face was in pain, guilt making his scaled brow wrinkle, “I wasn’t careful enough. I didn’t think… I should have known after seeing that damn mansion of his…”

“It’s too late to blame yourself. We can talk about it later,” hissed Hotspur, “Now I just want to figure out if mommy and daddy… I mean… Mother and Father are alive.”

“How? There’s tons of people in there!” said Puck.

“Easy. We sneak in,” Pequod said, his face gaining a measure of resolve as he began to dig through his pack. He withdrew a plain-looking hat and placed it upon his head, “Anybody able to disguise themselves?”

“I can keep to the shadows,” said Puck, “Dungeness too. Crabs are great at not being seen.”

“I can be quiet, but I cannot change my appearance,” said Caliban.

“So that leaves me, then,” said Pequod, “Hotspur? I need a fresh corpse.”

“A… a corpse?” asked Balthezar, “What do you intend to do?”

Pequod smiled and tilted the hat at a jaunty angle, “What I’m best at.”

\--

It was a warm night. The cultist was in plain clothes, standing outside of the gates of the Eagleshield residence. He was human, and wore fancy party clothes, although on close inspection they did not fit him well, and the rough, plain sword at his side gave him away as being ready for a fight. He was alone, looking from side to side. The next watch would be by to relive him soon. Those adventurers would surely be by soon. Their brother Jona was already dead, a worthy sacrifice. There would always be blood to create more half-dragons, and to entrap the maggots who threatened his master was worth the loss. The human daydreamed, wondering if he might be blessed by draconic metamorphosis, to be brought one step closer to his master’s grand plan, and to be used to resurrect their great and terrible queen.

There was a sudden noise at his side, from a square, manicured hedge outside of the wrought iron gate. His sword was drawn immediately. He narrowed his eyes. His instructions had been to alert the group should he see or hear anything suspicious, but that would not bring him glory. If he could take out one of those abominable thorns in Auldina’s side himself, he would be exalted forever!

He took a step towards the hedge, at least hoping to know something about which of them it was. Perhaps it was the lizard, or the dragonborn. Maybe the half-orc had come home, or the Tortle. Maybe, he thought with pleasure, it would be the Kobold, and the race-traitor would pay for his crimes against his own draconic ancestry. He smiled as he approached.

All of a sudden, the hedge seemed to explode! Leaves and branches burst forth, and a red blur appeared. He heard snapping and blinked his eyes wildly as a massive crab emerged from the bushes. It did not attack, instead rushing right up to him and waving its claws around wildly.

“What the…!?” the man said, before a green streak appeared from behind him and tackled him to the ground.

He and the green streak disappeared inside of the hedge. He tried to scream, but teeth around his throat stopped his breath. He tried to struggle, but the lizardfolk who had a hold of him was unnaturally strong, and he was soon bleeding terribly from bites all over his body. He soon felt the flurry of attacks relent, and his face fell to one side, seeing through the hole in the hedgerow made by the crab’s exit, and the last thing he saw was a tortle, crouching in front of him, studying his face. He smiled, then, before he adjusted his hat and, all at once, the appearance of the Tortle melted away, and was replaced by a vision of himself! His eyes went wide, and then fell cold and blank as life left his face.

“Well done Caliban,” whispered Pequod, making his voice sound more “Human” for the sake of his disguise, “You as well Dungeness.”

Puck also emerged from the hedge, crouching low so he would not be seen. The four of them then made sure the man’s body was covered.

“With me, everyone,” said Pequod, “Keep to the shadows.”

Caliban, however, shook his head, “I will stay. Dungeness will be the eyes of Hotspur and… Cloudgazer.”

“What do you…?”

With that, he could see that the lizardfolk’s eyes were strangely dead and unseeing. Pequod wondered if he had gone blind but realized in a moment what had happened. He was seeing through the giant crab’s eyes. Clever.

“Good,” said Pequod, “We’ll wait for you to rejoin the other two. I guess it’s just you and me, Puck.”

“Let me at ‘em.”

With that, Caliban, using Dungeness’s sight to guide him, walked on towards the corner where Balthezar and Hotspur waited. He then sat down, cross-legged and seemed to begin describing what he saw to the other two in a monotone voice. Pequod and Puck, however, turned and regarded the house.

“What’s the plan?”

“How do you feel about being taken prisoner?” asked Pequod, with a smirk of his seemingly human mouth.

\--

The ballroom of the Eagleshield residence resembled a refugee camp. All of the servants who had been unlucky enough to be trapped inside while the dragon cult attacked were huddled together, while Annabelle Eagleshield sat in the center on the floor, unmoving and frowning. She had her hands folded in her lap and her back was absolutely rail straight, even as the maids and butlers surrounding her were whimpering and curled up around her. Around the perimeter of the ballroom, half-dragons, elves, and humans with weapons all stood around, gazing menacingly at the group of Waterdhavians.

Annabelle’s auburn hair was piled high atop her head and she was wearing a long gown. She had intended to visit a neighbor for an evening call, but on her way out, the cult had attacked, and she had been forced to sit on the floor, unarmed and unprepared for battle. She was the first to be taken prisoner, and as she waited, the servants of her household were thrown in, and one by one they crawled towards their mistress and huddled together in fear. She thanked the Gods that her father the Lord Eagleshield was out at his club. By now, only her husband seemed to be missing.

As she thought this, all eyes turned at the sound of the double doors slamming open. Through them, a flash of green skin caused Annabelle, for the first time, to show worry on her face. She saw him, then, hanging limp from the arms of two half-dragons. They dragged him up to the group and dumped the big orc on the floor, where he lay, unmoving. Annabelle stood, not intending to crawl before these creatures, and approached, kneeling once she was next to her husband.

“What did you do to him?” she demanded, deathly calm.

The half-dragons answered only with a laugh. She ran a hand over her husband’s face. He had been beaten severely, blood was running from his mouth and nose, and she could see the stab wounds across his body. Still he was still a tough son of a bitch, she realized with a smile, and she took his head in her hands and rested it on her lap gently.

“A-Annie…?” the orc muttered as he felt the soft touch of her white silk gloves.

“I’m here, love,” she answered, “Don’t worry.”

“They did a hell of a number on me,” he grunted, before he smiled around his tusks, “But I gave ‘em trouble. They didn’t even feel like killin’ me.”

“That’s their mistake,” Annabelle said with a smile, before she leaned down and kissed her husband gently. She came away from his face with a small bit of blood mingling with her lipstick, but she didn’t bother to wipe it away.

It was odd. Why take them alive? She understood herself. She would be useful as a hostage against the rest of the Eagleshield family, but her husband was barely tolerated by the rest of high society. The servants would be useless. Why keep them all alive?

As if in answer, a low, rumbling voice seemed to rise over the ballroom. She looked up, slowly, her eyes hard, and searched for the voice. However, all she saw were the huddled servants and the cultists with their identity-obscuring robes.

“Well, now,” the voice said, causing all of the servants to cry out in fright at the low rumble, “The Eagleshield family. Annabelle Sty-robber, or so the other lords say behind your back.”

There was a murmur of laughter from the cultists gathered around. Annabelle refused to show her emotion on her face.

“Show yourself if you’re going to stoop to petty insults,” she demanded, her voice regal and hard, “Who are you?”

“Just know that you will serve a greater purpose soon.”

“My family has nothing to do with you.”

“On the contrary my lady,” the voice interrupted her, “Your little piglet has been a thorn in my side for a while now, along with that tortle, and all the rest. I’ve done my research. They thought they were careful, but they led me right here.”

“You must be great and powerful indeed if a mere girl of 19 years is giving you so much trouble,” Annabelle snapped.

There was a snarl of true anger then, and Annabelle wondered if there might be a gout of fire coming from somewhere. She knew this person. She had never met him, but she knew him. Arrogant. High-minded. Selfish. Half the nobles in Waterdeep were like this voice. If she could keep him talking, she could stall. If she could stall, Urthgar could recover. If Urthgar could recover…

“Might I know the name of who has apparently felt it prudent to assault my household?” demanded Annabelle.

“You might, soon.”

“Too cowardly to say?”

“You dare…?”

“I tamed a wild Orc tribe, coward!” she said, suddenly, grimacing, “You think I fear your kind after marrying the son of the Skullcrusher chieftan? You think I fear thugs dressed in robes too cowardly to show their faces? You underestimate me. You underestimate my family. If Hellena is giving you so much trouble, you were foolish to cross me.”

“And what will you do, surrounded on all sides by your doom?”

At this, each of the cultists reached up to pull their hoods down from their heads. She looked around then, taking in each of their faces. Most seemed to be dragonborn. Black, red, white, green… All chromatic colors were represented. She frowned. She knew enough about Hellena’s mission to understand that this cult was gathering half-dragons for some nefarious purpose. One of each color. They had that and more!

“What is this sudden fear, tamer of the Skullcrusher tribe?” the voice chuckled, “A colorful lot, aren’t they? You thought your daughter eradicated the last of my half-dragons? You think I did not have my contingencies? You think that was the only cell I had within the city?”

“Who are you?” she demanded one last time.

This time, the voice obliged. She heard heavy footsteps, vibrating the dance floor as it stepped forward. She saw cracks open up in the shiny marble but saw nothing. It was invisible, whatever it was.

“A herald,” it said in a harsh whisper, and Annabelle could feel an impossible heat over her face as she realized the thing’s burning, rancid breath was washing over her. She squinted her eyes, feeling pain in them, but she refused to look away. “My queen will be revived. I will give her my body, willingly, and she will rule this land, forever. Your pathetic kind will bow to mine or be destroyed.”

“Hellena will stop you,” she said, quietly, “Her and her friends.”

“Not before I sacrifice her family. The final part of the ritual. Blood of her enemies. You will be part of the glorious return of Tiamat. Rejoice, mortal.”

More footsteps sounded out, moving away from her, and she tried to follow the creature by the noise and by the cracks in her floor. She heard him turn, and perhaps sit. It was impossible to tell.

“It is time,” the creature said, “Begin the bloodlett…”

“My lord!” a sudden voice from within the crowd said. Annabelle heard an unearthly roar in answer. The anger and frustration in the dragon’s voice rattled the prisoners to their cores.

“Who dares interrupt?” he screamed, “Who…!”

At this, the crowd parted. A human cultist arrived, holding a bundle in his hands. It was a creature, wiggling in his arms. A rust-colored kobold with a gag in his mouth and his hands and feet tied.

“Puck…!” Annabelle cried, now well and truly frightened. If they had taken Puck…!

“My lord, we killed the crab and the tortle. What should I do with the traitor?”

“You dare come to me with a mere Kobold?” the voice demanded. However, as it seemed to turn to regard the tied-up creature, Annabelle could almost hear the smile in its voice as it continued, “I see. One of those little thorns in my side. Well done. Give him to me.”

The cultist walked forward, bowing deeply as he did, with a smile on his face. He slowly approached, and, soon, placed the restrained creature on the ground. Puck wriggled for a moment, until he felt the creature’s hot breath on his face.

“So. Little dragon. You have been trying your best to keep your little brother away from my agents. You have failed.”

Puck soon felt something on his mouth, something sharp, traveling under his chin, just on the cusp of breaking the scaly skin. He flinched, until the invisible claw reached into his mouth and pulled the gag out. Reflexivly, Puck breathed in, opening his mouth and stretching his jaw, until the claw hooked itself under his chin once again.

“Your kind are beholden to mine, little one,” the dragon said, his voice patrician and self-conciously kind, “You don’t have to die like your companions. All you have to do is join me. Your brother will serve a greater purpose. Your warren will fulfill its ultimate purpose. To serve me. To serve Tiamat. To serve your God’s master.”

“S-serve?”

“Yes. Serve me, little one. You will have a place at Tiamat’s feast if you do.”

“And you won’t hurt Ssylo? You won’t hurt my brother?”

“I’ve no more use for him. I don’t see why not.”

Puck felt the claw and felt the direction where that breath was coming from. He knew where the creature was. It was huge, but not as large as they feared. In his current form Auldina was likely still young. Possibly even just a wyrmling! Still, even a Wyrmling would be a dangerous foe.

“And we would work for you,” said Puck, “The warren, I mean.”

“Certainly.”

“I… I think…” Puck stammered, feigning fear, but couldn’t hide the smile on his face, “I think I’ll pass.”

Moving quickly, Puck pulled his arms out of the false bonds around his arms and legs and pulled his arms from behind his back. There was a rip as Puck used his claws to tear open a bag of some sort, and all of a sudden he tossed a bundle towards the invisible dragon. The dragon roared, pulling his claw away from Puck and attempting to swipe the bag out of the air, unsure of what it was, and there was a sudden explosion of thick white dust which spread all around.

Covered by the sudden cloud of flour, Puck rolled away back towards the disguised Pequod. All at once the ‘human’ reached into a pack at his side and pulled puck’s shortswords out seemingly from nowhere as Pequod reached inside the illusion and dropped the swords in front of Puck, who snatched them up and turned to face the dragon.

The plan had worked. The bag of flour clung jealously to Auldina’s hide, and they could immediately see the shape of the dragon, waving its claws in the air to try to disperse the fine powder. The dragon had fins and frills all around its face, and it was only about the size of a large horse. Even so, it would be a deadly foe, and they were surrounded by cultists.

“Dungeness!” he cried out, and like tenpins, one side of the crowd was barreled over as the crab rushed in, waving its claws around and catching cultists off guard. It rushed over to its master, and Puck was glad to see the faint glow of its eyes. Caliban was still watching. “Hey! Showtime, Caliban. Tell the others.”

The cultists were recovering from their surprise then, and began to rush forward, intending to overwhelm the kobold and apparent traitor. However, Pequod soon turned and, using the apparently invisible bagpipes hiding beneath his disguise, blew an alluring note, making eye contact with one of the half dragons – a white one on the edge. They tended to be stupid. All at once, the white half-dragon stopped, a sudden fear in his heart seizing him, and he looked around at his allies, before he screamed and, turning towards the crowd he was a part of, unleashed his cold breath upon them all. Confused and in pain, the rest of the cultists cried out. The untransformed humans perished immediately, falling to the floor and shattering, and the other half-dragons were dealt a horrific blow by the breath weapon of their ally. While the rest of the cultists were busy distracted by the sudden betrayal of their fellow fanatic, Pequod pulled up the illusory hood of his disguise and ran into the crowd, immediately blending in and causing confusion among the ranks.

Puck, meanwhile, knew what had to be done. He could see Auldina, and if he could see him, he could mark him. He set his sights on the boss, and together he and Dungeness rushed ahead, the crab breaking right and Puck breaking left. The crab acted first, his very presence giving Puck enough of a distraction that he could begin to slash out at the barely visible dragon. He sliced once with one shortsword, and then once with the other, and finally, attacked a third time. Auldina screeched as he felt the bite of magical steel three times, before Puck and Dungeness both set themselves on either side of the creature, so he couldn’t catch both of them in his fire breath.

“Insignificant insects!” screamed the dragon, “I am the immortal! I am eternal! I am…!”

As if in answer, the large picture windows of the ballroom suddenly shattered, and a green blur entered into the house, before rolling to a stop, standing to its feet, and hissing. Caliban unfurled his tail, his eyes darting independently between the myriad creatures who faced him, and he gave a massive roar before he dove in and began to maul the nearest unsuspecting half-dragon. Behind him Hotspur leaped in and, with an uncommon grace, landed on her feet running and swung on the nearest creature with her axe.

“What? Go! Kill them!”

In answer, the cultists who weren’t dealing with the white half-dragon traitor began to mob towards the windows, brandishing weapons. None could unleash their own breath, lest they hit a companion in the spray, but they pulled weapons from their robes. A few managed to swing at Caliban and Hotspur, but the half-orc’s armor turned aside most of the blows while Caliban seemed not to notice the pain from the attacks in the slightest.

“We’re getting swarmed here!” cried Hotspur, “Hey! Holy man! Ready yet?”

As if on cue, all eyes turned to watch Balthezar climb awkwardly into the window. In one hand was his glaive, the blade of which was wreathed in thunderous force. In his other hand, he held his holy symbol, and as he stepped forward, he intoned a small prayer, before his eyes began to glow pure white.

All of a sudden, emanating from Balthezar there was a field of shining light which immediately caused all of the half-dragons to flinch back from the divine energy. From within the light, figures emerged. They appeared to be celestial creatures of some sort, but ethereal and soft. Each one wore a long robe, much like Balthezar’s traditional robes from candlekeep, and each seemed to be reading a book. All eyes were stunned by the radiant glory of this display, until the spectral librarians turned their faces as one towards the mob. As one, they all raised a finger to their mouths and shushed the room, before their angelic wings unfurled and they all dived into the crowd.

Screams of pain rose up over the sound of combat as the spirit guardians suffused the cultists with the radiant glory of the god of knowledge and magic. Balthezar, satisfied, let his holy symbol hang from his neck and took up the glaive in both hands, readying himself for combat.

Meanwhile, Auldina roared, setting his sights on the Kobold who harried him alone. He slashed out at once, first with one claw and then the next. One claw was absolutely covered with flour, and Puck dodged out of the way, but the other impacted with him, bowling the light creature over. Blood began to flow from the front of Puck’s leather armor, where the claws had raked through easily. The kobold gritted his teeth and stayed standing, however.

“Dog!” Auldina screeched, “Your deaths will be painful!”

“Just wait til’ I make a purse out of you!” Puck screamed back, “For the warren!”

From there, the battle descended into chaos. Like twin reapers, Caliban and Hotspur waded through the crowd of cultists, cleaving and biting, and all the while they were harried constantly by Balthezar’s divine power. On the other end of the room, the cultists tried in vain to calm the white half-dragon who had been ensorcelled by Pequod, while Pequod roamed through the crowd in disguise, every so often sinking his rapier into someone’s back or side, and whispering something into their ear as he did, eradicating all hope, and causing them to drop dead as much from the psychic damage as from the sword. All the while, Puck fought gallantly against the dragon, keeping him busy until Balthezar’s spirit guardians could wash over the battlefield, finally engulfing the dragon and causing him to screech.

“You dare fight against me, false dragon?” the dragon cried out, his eyes turning to find Balthezar in the crowd, “Fine! Look upon the form of your destroyer. May my glory blind you!”

All at once, the dragon seemed to shake the invisibility off of himself, as if he was shaking off drops of water. Starting from the tip of the dragon’s tail, a peek of shining scales shone through, which traveled up to his body, ending in his black claws still covered in Puck’s blood, and finally, his face, which smiled with a mad arrogance. He was gold all over, from the fins on his head to the tip of his tail, and he seemed to smile at the confusion.

“A gold dragon?” cried Hotspur.

“What? But…” Balthezar stuttered. It made no sense. Gold dragons were good, weren’t they? It was only chromatics that were evil.

He didn’t have much time to worry about it, as he looked on in horror as the dragon began to breathe in deeply. Balthezar realized that he had no regard for the members of his cult. He was going to burn them all in dragon fire, just to get Balthezar to stop! The green dragonborn looked around, looking for some escape, but there wasn’t time.

All of a sudden, there was a hiss as Caliban leaped from the crowd and grabbed hold of the dragon’s face with his entire body! His body was bloodied and bruised from all of the attacks from the cultists who he had waded through, but he didn’t seem to notice in the slightest. He pulled as hard as he could on the dragon’s jaw, already spewing fire, and forced his strong neck to turn away from his friends and towards another crowd of cultists. The muscles of the gold dragon wyrmling tensed and fought, but the lizardfolk’s unnatural strength as the rage came over him was too much! He was forced to turn, but still unleashed the fire, and Caliban seemed to disappear in the bright gout of flame that engulfed him, as well as the cultists behind him.

“Caliban!” screamed Balthezar, eyes wide. His heart suddenly ached with fear, and in that fear he found a sudden resolve. The half-dragons around him were already beginning to drop dead or flee from the horrific radiance of his spirit guardians, and so Balthezar had a clear shot to run forward and strike out with his glaive at the neck of the dragon. He slashed down, thinking perhaps he could cut the dragon’s head from his body in one blow, but the muscles proved to be too thick for that. Still, he left a long slash in the glittering hide and saw the thunderous power suffuse the dragon’s body.

Hotspur and Puck both joined Balthezar’s assault, slicing into the dragon’s body. Hotspur, as her axe sank into the side of the dragon, turned her face to her mother, who was still surrounded by terrified servants, and screamed at her, “Mommy! Run!”

“But…”

“Take Daddy and run!” she said, annoyed, “Just do it!”

Annabelle knew her daughter was right, and so she conscripted a few of the servants to help her carry Urthgar, and together, they began to leave as the cultists were too busy trying to fight off the chaos of the interloping adventurers.

“No!” Auldina screamed as his eyes turned to watch the Eagleshield household flee, his human sacrifices getting away, “No!”

He tried to turn to attack them, but found that Caliban, who seemed by all accounts to be a charred corpse, still had his eyes open, and was holding the dragon still.

“You will not hurt my friends,” grunted Caliban.

“Then you’ll die for them!”

In front of the dragon’s face, it was a simple matter for the dragon to open up his jaws and simply bite down on the lizardfolk. To the horror of everyone gathered, Caliban slipped into the creature’s mouth up to his waist, and blood shot forth from the lizard’s back and stomach as the dragon’s teeth pierced his thick hide. Caliban struggled for a moment, before his legs and tail ceased their wild struggling, and he soon went limp. Before anyone could do anything else, the dragon then dropped the lizard to the ground, and with one of his black claws batted the lizardfolk’s limp corpse away.

“No!” Balthezar screamed, “Caliban!”

“Focus, Balthezar,” Pequod screamed, suddenly emerging from the crowd as he turned and unleashed a loud wave of force upon a crowd, scattering them like leaves on a windy day, “Finish it!”

Horror played across Balthezar’s bearing, but he knew he had to finish this. He, Hotspur, and Puck all had to work together to take down this monster. Balthezar struck first, emboldened by his friend’s apparent demise, and Puck acted next, laying two strikes upon the dragon’s neck.

“Hotspur!” Puck called out as he pointed out Auldina’s neck, which both he and Balthezar had sliced into.

“Got it!” the half-orc screamed, before she centered herself, remembering what she had learned from the battle with that Kenku, and sent her father’s battleaxe down on the golden creature’s neck.

Immediately, Auldina screamed as the blade of the axe buried itself halfway into the sinews of his neck. His vision went blurry, and there was a sudden fear in his eyes, and then annoyance. Before he could act again, Hotspur screamed her best orcish battle cry and brought the axe down one last time.

Like slicing through soft cheese, the axe cleaved into Auldina’s neck. He tried to cry out one more time but found he could not. No voice issued forth as his draconic head fell to the marble floor, an expression of surprise and pain on his face. The rest of his body followed suit soon after.

Their leader felled, the rest of the cultists, battered, broken, and still harried by Balthezar’s spell, began to retreat. Some left through the windows, while others fled through the house. However, Puck, Hotspur, Pequod, and Balthezar made no move to follow, and were soon alone in the ballroom with the corpse of Auldina the immortal, and Caliban, lying on the floor before him.

“Balthezar…” Puck muttered, looking up at the cleric with hope and fear, “Is he…?”

The dragonborn realized in that instant what he was doing. He rushed forward, dropping his weapon to the floor, and fell to his knees by Caliban’s body. He wanted to scream the lizardfolk’s name, to try to call him back to this plane, but as he laid hands on the mangled corpse of his friend and lover, he realized it was too late. Warmth was leaving the body quickly.

“He…” Balthezar said, realizing the horrible truth as he did, “He’s dead.”

“Dead?” Puck said, rushing up, “H-he can’t be dead! He can’t be!”

Balthezar was mute. Hotspur and Pequod stood by, awkwardly, staring at the scene. They were victorious, but at what cost?

“C-can’t you bring him back?” Hotspur said, quietly, “You’re a man of the cloth. You should be able to…”

“That’s… difficult magic,” Balthezar snapped, “It… it would take a great deal of resources…”

“What would you need?” asked Pequod, “I know of the spell. You’ve got less than a minute before it’s too late. What do you need?”

“A… A….” Balthezar stammered, before his back went straight, “Hotspur! Call your mother back in here, hurry! She was wearing jewelry, yes?”

“Yes?”

“Bring me a diamond!” he demanded, “Any diamond! Just… do it!”

Hotspur wasted no time. She rushed away towards where her mother had gone, as Balthezar pulled his holy symbol up over his head and laid it upon Caliban’s charred chest. He could feel tears forming at the edges of his vision, and his throat was constricted in fear. He was unsure if he could even say the magic words necessary to call back Caliban’s spirit from the other side, but he had to try. Caliban was his responsibility. Caliban was his, and he was Caliban’s.

“I’m sorry,” he began to mutter, as he pulled off his pack and began to dig through for more supplies. Incense, candles, herbs. Anything he could think of. Without even being asked, Pequod and Puck both set to work lighting the candles and circling the body with them, and Balthezar used the flame of one of the candles to light a stick of pungent incense. Caliban liked strong smells. It would help to call him back.

Soon, Hotspur came running back. She had an earring in her hand, and she offered it to Balthezar. It was a relatively large diamond, finely cut, and clearly valuable, and Balthezar hoped it would be enough. He placed the earring on top of his holy symbol and began to pray.

“I know now why I came to Waterdeep,” he muttered, trying to talk over the sudden music he heard trumpeting in his ears, “I know. It was to stop this. It was to prevent Tiamat’s return. It was to vanquish Auldina. I know that now! I was guided here by this power you have bestowed upon me, but… but please. This wasn’t Caliban’s destiny. Caliban was only here because I was here. Caliban only jumped into the fire because… because I love him. And my loving him is important to him. I realize now I was wrong. I shouldn’t have run away from the truth. Please. If he leaves now, I’ll be left with nothing but regret. I should have stayed by his side. I should have listened.”

Tears were streaming down Balthezar’s face, he reached up briefly to whip off his tear-soaked spectacles, laying them on the floor, and soon, the tears began to fall upon Caliban’s broken body.

“Caliban,” Balthezar said, before his eyes opened, and Puck, Hotspur, and Pequod drew back at the sight of the white glow in his eyes. Balthezar’s voice began to reverberate, resonating within the deepest parts of each of their souls as he called beyond the veil, “Return. Quickly. There’s not much time. Come back to me. I… I love you. I can’t stop loving you. Even if that’s not enough, we can make it work. Even if it isn’t love forever, it’s still love right now. Come back to me! Come back!”

Balthezar suddenly breathed in as the power suffusing his body caused him to rear back, and, as if his limbs were no longer under his own control, he reached down and laid his hands on either side of Caliban’s chest. There was a bright glow then, so radiant that everyone had to shield their eyes from the glow. Puck, his sensitive eyes in pain, covered his face completely and turned away.

Soon, however, the glow subsided. The only sound in the ballroom was Balthezar’s heavy breathing. The dragonborn heard nothing suddenly. The music had ceased. However, the music was replaced by something else. Something comforting somehow. A voice in his ear whispered.

HE SAVED YOUR LIFE. YOU SAVED HIS. A WORTHY STORY. WELL DONE.

All of a sudden, Caliban’s chest swelled with breath.

“Cloud… gazer…”

Balthezar cried out, sobbing as he threw himself down on the lizardfolk’s limp body. He was still scarred and bruised, but the worst of his burns and cuts had cleared away. He was injured, but alive. Immediately, Balthezar muttered a few more prayers, laying his hands on the Lizardfolk’s body to close the horrific scars that had been left by the dragon’s attack.

“Shhh,” said Balthezar, “You’re going to be alright, Caliban. Just stay calm.”

“By the gods, you did it!” Pequod muttered, “You just called him right back.”

“Caliban!” Puck cried, hugging his body to the Lizardfolk’s face. Caliban didn’t seem to mind the sudden affection from the kobold, “You’re back!”

Hotspur said nothing. She simply breathed in and out deeply, relief rushing through her. She then looked around for her mother’s diamond and found only the gold setting lying nearby. She picked it up and found that there was nothing left of the jewel but coal dust. She was annoyed and wondered how she was going to explain this to her mother – those earrings were an heirloom and had been in the family for ages – but found she didn’t care. Caliban, her friend, was alive.

“Cloudgazer,” Caliban said, reaching up to take the dragonborn’s hand in his own, “Is the dragon dead?”

“Yes. Thanks to you.”

“Good. I… I am sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?”

“I hurt you,” said Caliban, “I did not mean to hurt you. You are complicated. I know this. I said you did not respect me, but I did not respect you. I should have known you would be hurt by my words.”

“I… I know you didn’t mean anything by it, Caliban.”

“Still. I am sorry.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I… I ran away rather than face reality. I was stupid. I should have listened. I understand now.”

“What do you understand?”

“You and I?” Balthezar began, taking the lizardfolk’s face in his hand, “We’re forever. We’re bound by fate. You’ve said so yourself. Whether we… we carry on like we are or if things change, that will never end. I’ll always be yours and you’ll always be mind, through love, friendship, or… or whatever happens to come.”

“Always.”

With that, Balthezar bent down and gave the lizardfolk a small lick on the tip of his snout as the magic suffusing his body went to work closing the worst of his wounds. The green dragonborn then simply laid down on the floor next to Caliban, not caring that the rest of the party was standing over them. He held tight to the lizardfolk, never wanting to let go for as long as he lived.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balthezar and Caliban, triumphant, celebrate... but a few loose ends must be confronted.

The night was alive with music in the Silver Scale one week later. The Kobolds had never learned to polka before, but now the whole bar was alive with whirling, spinning tiny dragons laughing and crying out as they coupled together on the dance floor, spurred on by the drum beat of Pequod’s chultan djembe and a simple squeezebox that Stelka’s husband Kal played with a smile on his blue, draconic face. A few of the bar’s dragonborn regulars were confused and pleasantly surprised by the sudden party, and a few had found dance partners either with one another or with one of the pretend-thralls, while others who had heard about the death of the gold dragon wyrmling in the Eagleshield family home looked upon the members of the party in awe.

Hotspur and Puck sat together in a booth, not taking part in the festivities. Hotspur was enjoying herself with a drink in her hand, and Puck’s smile was wide as he snuck little bits of food under the table for Dungeness. Caliban, wearing the tailored leather jacket with the embroidered green dragon on the back once again, supervised the dance, counting to four under his breath. His face had not come away from the battle unscathed, as wide gashes of discolored scales marred his face and exposed chest, but the worst of his wounds had been healed. He did not seem to mind, and as he looked over at Balthezar, sitting at the bar with Stelka, the green dragonborn’s smile was unchanged. The scars did not matter to either of them. They were marks of pride.

The copper dragonborn was humming to herself as she sat beside Balthezar Cloudgazer, smile plastered on her face as she oversaw the merriment. One hand rested on Balthezar’s shoulder, warrior to warrior, and both held tall mugs of ale which Balthezar sipped slowly and Stelka took long draughts of.

“So!” Stelka said, “and then what happened?”

“Well, uh, after that I looked after Caliban, mostly. Puck was hurt as well, so Pequod and Hotspur worked together to round up as many of the escaped cultists as they could.”

“May they rot in the nine hells with their bitch of a queen!” Stelka pronounced as a toast.

“I’ll… I’ll second that,” Balthezar said, raising his drink, “We didn’t round them all up, however. There are bound to be more.”

“There are always more. The cult of Tiamat is like a fungus. It sticks to everything and thrives in darkness.”

Balthezar nodded, “But for now, Auldina is dead. It would have been a problem if we had waited for a few years for him to gather in power.“

“You say he was some kind of lich, then?”

“Sort of,” Balthezar explained, “His spirit reincarnates upon his death. His soul will likely wander the plane until he finds the nearest dragon egg. I fear that he will likely remember us.”

“So you can kick his ass again!”

“Hah. I… I suppose so,” agreed Balthezar, before he turned and watched Caliban, “I have to admit something Stelka. When I first came to this city, I really was afraid for my life. I had no idea why I had been chosen by Deneir, I didn’t know anyone. It was awful. Meeting Caliban, and Puck, and Pequod and Hotspur, and you and all the rest has been so wonderful. I never knew I was missing so much in the outside world until that day I helped Caliban.”

“You had a pretty odd go of it.”

“I did. I’m coming to realize I’m… I’m not really a normal dragonborn, am I?”

“Considering you were raised by humans with nothing but books to keep you company, it’s not a surprise,” said Stelka with a smile, “Still, it takes all kinds. I think you and the lizardfolk are cute together, honestly.”

“Thank you,” Balthezar said with a blush, “I’m glad the kobolds seemed so interested in learning. I needed a rest. He can go for hours.”

Stelka, sly in her expression, turned and smirked towards Balthezar. He stared at her, uncomprehending, until he slowly realized what he said and stammered.

“I mean polka! He dances for hours! Gosh!”

“You want a room upstairs? Nicest one. Just the two of you. Maybe even a little room service?”

“I don’t… I mean, we…”

“Free of charge. Consider it thanks from the Platinum Dragon for putting down that metallic pretender.”

“I… I suppose I can’t help but say yes,” Balthezar said, allowing himself to smile, and he felt the edge of excitement come over him. No matter how many times they had gone to bed, it always seemed new and exciting to him.

However, something about what Stelka said reminded Balthezar of something. There was one last lingering doubt left over in his mind.

“Stelka,” said Balthezar, “He was a metallic, yes?”

“Aye?”

“But he was evil. That isn’t supposed to happen. For that matter, the wards around the city were supposed to keep all dragons out. How did Auldina get in?”

“That I can’t tell you, Cloudgazer,” she said, “I don’t really know how the wards work.”

“The Harpers will want to know,” muttered the green dragon.

“Your group? I’m sure they will. But stop. Let your mind rest for now, Balthezar Cloudgazer. You’ve done enough. You’re a cleric of uncommon strength now, you know. You’ve brought someone back from the dead.”

“Aye. It’s almost too insane to think of it, but I did.”

“Together, if you’re careful and smart, you, and Caliban, Puck, Hotspur, and Pequod could be unstoppable. I’m looking forward to watching you…”

Stelka trailed off, however, as her eye was suddenly drawn to the front door of the bar. Balthezar stared at her, confused, before he turned his head and blinked at the sight. Before now, Hotspur had been the only thing in that bar without scaly skin. Now, the creature who walked in was apparently dwarven, with deep brown complexion and white in his hair and beard, and he leaned heavily on an ornate staff as he entered the bar and looked around with a smile on his face at all of the revelry surrounding him. The sight of him caused more than a few stares, and none stared harder than Stelka, who furrowed her brow.

“Stelka?” asked Balthezar, “Who’s that?”

“I don’t know,” she said quietly, placing her drink on the bar and standing up, “Come.”

She waded her way across the room, silently excusing herself as she crossed the dance floor. Balthezar followed behind, reaching up to touch the holy symbol hung from his neck. Quietly, he gestured to Caliban, who immediately stopped his instruction of the Kobolds, and joined Balthezar, snatching up one of his hands and facing this stranger in their midst.

“Hail, stranger,” said Stelka, putting on the guise of a gracious host, “You’re more than welcome here of course, but I have to warn you it might not be your kind of place.”

“I can see what you mean,” the man said. His voice was deep and sonorous, and he seemed to gaze down at the dancing kobolds with a fond look, “You have done good here, Stelka.”

“You know me?”

“I do. I hear stories of my city,” said the man, before he turned to look towards Balthezar, “I always have an interest in the children of dragons in Waterdeep.”

Balthezar’s back went straight. This was no ordinary stranger. He took in the man’s bearing and equipment. That staff in particular caught the green dragonborn’s eye. It was almost certainly magical, judging by the fine craftmanship and the expensive jewel that topped it. This man was likely a wizard of some power. Never letting go of Caliban’s hand, Balthezar breathed in deeply and stepped forward.

“Sir,” he said, realizing at once this person was to be respected, “Is there something I can do for you?”

The man’s smile faded only slightly, before it strengthened again. “Chosen of Deneir, no. Nothing more than you’ve already done. You saved my city. You killed a great scourge on this town. You scattered the cult. You deserve your rest.”

“If I might be so bold, who are you?”

“They call me Aurinax,” said the dwarf, showing his teeth with the wide grin he gave, “Heard of me?”

It was a draconic name, Balthezar realized that immediately. However, beyond that, he did not recognize it. However, he began to suspect something about this old man.

“You aren’t a dwarf, are you?” the green dragonborn said, squeezing Caliban’s hand.

“Cloudgazer,” Caliban whispered, “Do I kill?”

“No, Caliban. There won’t be any trouble,” Balthezar reassured his lover, “I have a feeling it would be beyond us.”

“Cloudgazer…?”

“The Chosen of Deneir is correct, Lizardkin,” the dwarf said, “In truth, I merely have one thing to say. Stelka, might I have a private moment with the chosen?”

Stelka stared at the dwarf uneasily, before she turned and gave a look to Balthezar. The green dragonborn seemed afraid, but he put on a brave face and nodded his head. She sighed, before she jerked her head towards a quiet table at the bar.

“Corner table’s free,” she said, “But Caliban stays with him.”

“I would have it no other way,” the dwarf said, before he wandered back over to the table.

Balthezar took another moment to center himself, before he turned his face to Stelka and said, “It will be alright,” and began to walk with Caliban to the corner of the bar.

By this time, the rest of the revelers had noticed something was happening. Puck and Hotspur stared hard at their friends, ready to jump in should trouble happen, and Pequod had slowed the song’s tempo as his own hard eyes narrowed. However, Stelka called out over the bar, “What’s the matter? Keep the party going! Who wants a drink?” and the heavy air over the bar cleared somewhat.

Balthezar and Caliban sat across from Aurinax, who leaned his staff on the wall behind him. He smiled grandly, and leaned forward, clasping his hands together.

“You have done me a great service. Cleaned up a mess of mine. I wanted to thank you in person.”

“Me? We all helped. It was a group effort.”

“Yes. But you two I trust more than the rest. They have ulterior motives. Pequod is loyal to the harpers, Hotspur is a noblewoman, and Puck would likely blab to his warren. You two I trust. You are kin to me, Balthezar Cloudgazer, and Caliban, you are kin to Balthezar.”

“K-kin to you…?” muttered Balthezar, “What… what are you? You aren’t a simple dwarven wizard, are you?”

Aurinax only smiled, although it made his face seem more wistful than anything.

“The dragon you met. Who you knew as Auldina,” the dwarf said, “That was my son.”

The dragonborn and lizardfolk were both startled at this and stared hard at Aurinax. The dwarf stared right back, gauging their reactions, and when he felt they were ready to hear more, he continued.

“There is a ward over my city. It was set up long ago to keep out dragons other than myself. I live beneath the city, in a secret location. I can’t go into specifics, of course, but… years ago, I mated, and recently one of my children contacted me, wishing to learn from me. I granted him entry to Waterdeep – perhaps that was foolish, but he was still a Wyrmling, and I had no idea what terrible creature had infected my son in the egg. I wanted him to learn my ways. Learn from me. I was arrogant, and he used that arrogance against me.”

“Why… why didn’t you stop him?” asked Balthezar.

“Because… because he was my son. Or at least I thought he was,” explained Aurinax, “I didn’t know that the wyrmling had been possessed by Auldina. I had hope that I could teach him to be better. Teach him to be good. I was… foolish. I come before you both because I want to thank you for doing what I should have done long ago.”

The two adventurers were stunned into silence as they listened to Aurinax. Their guest, however, plastered a smile onto his face and nodded his head, seemingly satisfied. He then pulled something from his robes, a book, and placed it on the table between them.

“Wh… what’s this?” asked Balthezar.

“Something that will help you,” said Aurinax, “I’ve done my research on you, Balthezar Cloudgazer. You weren’t cut out for Wizardry or sorcery.”

Embarassed by the false dwarf’s words, Balthezar grimaced, and stared down at the table. Aurinax smiled, reaching forward to place a hand over the dragonborn’s, reassuring him with his touch.

“Don’t worry. It isn’t all its cracked up to be,” he said, “There are better things in store for you.”

“I’ve come to realize I have a great deal of power, thanks to Deneir’s influence.”

“It is your power, regardless of where it comes from,” said Aurinax, “This book is probably the most valuable thing I can think of to give you.”

Balthezar looked down at the book, then, taking it in. The cover was blank leather, and the parchment pages were lined with gold leaf. It was a fine book, and Balthezar reached forward to touch it, feeling the weight of the tome. He opened it, hearing the reassuring creak of a brand-new spine opened for the very first time, and began to flip through.

However, to Balthezar and Caliban’s surprise, the page that Balthezar came to first was completely blank. Balthezar turned the page and found that the next page was blank as well, and the next. Caliban looked up at Aurinax.

“You forgot to write in it.”

“Oh no, I didn’t forget,” said Aurinax with a laugh, “That’s for Balthezar to write in. To tell his side of the story.”

“My story?”

“Or whatever story you like. Research notes. Journal entries. Fiction. I simply thought you might like an outlet for such things. Such things are holy to Deneir, are they not?”

“Th-they are,” Balthezar said, smiling, “Thank you, Sir Aurinax.”

The dwarf smiled, before he took up his staff and began to walk away, no more words needed. He only stopped after a moment to look down at two of the kobolds who were dancing together and said a faint word to them, causing them to smile. He then walked up to the bar to have a brief word with Stelka, and then left, disappearing into the night as quickly as he had arrived.

“Cloudgazer,” said Caliban, “I don’t understand. Who was that?”

“I think it was… a friend. Someone it would be a very bad idea to be on the wrong side of,” said Balthezar, hugging the blank journal to his chest, “I’m happy we met him.”

“Was he a dragon?”

Before Balthezar could answer, however, there was a sudden cry over the bar. Pequod was screaming, and immediately, Balthezar and Caliban were on their feet, the dragonborn’s hand on his holy symbol and the lizardfolk’s teeth bared. Hotspur and Puck immediately leaped from the table they were at, ready to see what had happened, and all four of them saw Pequod, standing at the bar something massive and shining in his hand.

“Cloudgazer! What did you do?” cried Pequod over the sudden silence at the bar as he held up a diamond big enough to fit in the palm of his massive tortle mitt.

“Me?” Balthezar asked, “I didn’t… I mean, he just gave me a…”

Stelka, flusted by the sight of the massive diamond the man had left at the bar, spoke up, “The dwarf left it. Said it was for y-you folks. Thanks for a job well done.”

“Who was that man?” demanded Hotspur, rushing up to inspect the diamond. It had to be worth thousands.

Balthezar was silent. He could have told them but knew that would be a betrayal of Aurinax’s trust. At the same time, not telling them would be a betrayal of his friends’ trust. Instead, he looked down at his journal, and smiled, before looking up towards his friends.

“I’ll tell you later,” he said, “When I’m ready to tell. Stelka? Is that room you reserved for us ready?”

“Er… y-yeah. Of course.”

With that, Balthezar did not feel like talking any more. He reached down to take Caliban’s hand, and the two of them stared into one another’s eyes with an obvious hunger, as well as a deep respect. Balthezar smiled, and Caliban stayed calm and impassive as he pressed himself close to his lover, winding his tail around the dragonborn’s legs. The rest of the party was speechless as they left the room and headed upstairs, led up by a very confused and shaken Stelka, who had begun to suspect that this Aurinax was not who he appeared to be. Pequod, standing mute with the diamond in his hand, slowly began to laugh, and soon, his gaiety was infectious enough to wash over the entire bar. Recruiting Balthezar had been the right call after all.

Soon, the green dragonborn and the lizardfolk were led to the best suite in the house, and almost as soon as they entered and Stelka closed the door after them, their bodies were entwined in a sweet, victorious embrace. The night progressed on from there, with the promise of many more nights and many more stories to tell filling the soul of Balthezar Cloudgazer with a joy he had never known before.


End file.
